Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The scorching desert wind sliced through the air, kicking up sand and grit that stung Sam’s eyes, but she didn’t slow down. Each step sent a jolt of pain up her legs, the raw heat from the ground radiating through her soles. 

Her breath felt ragged like there wasn’t enough air in the world to fill her lungs, but still, she ran. The weight of the situation pressed on her chest, but there was no time to think—no time to feel.

Her fingers dug into Mikaela’s hand, holding on as if it was the only tether to reality in the chaos that surrounded them. The frantic rhythm of their footsteps was drowned out by the overwhelming roar of Decepticon gunfire in the distance, the sky above them painted with the smoke of explosions. The world felt like it was collapsing, every second bringing them closer to something they couldn’t outrun.

Sam’s vision was a haze of swirling dust and smoke, the desolate landscape stretching endlessly in every direction, offering no refuge. 

She wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep running, but she didn’t have to wonder. Not yet. Not now. There was no time to think, only to keep moving, to keep surviving.

Sam had barely registered the shift in momentum. She and Mikaela had been so close—so close to joining the search group led by Ironhide and Arcee, the distant hope of rescue hanging in the air like a fragile thread. But the sudden onslaught, a vicious surprise attack, had shattered that hope in an instant. The ground trembled with the force of the explosions, each blast shaking the very air they breathed. The landscape had become a hellish blur of gunfire and smoke, and Sam’s heart raced with fear. They were on their own now.

“Sam!” Mikaela shouted, her voice barely audible over the chaos. But Sam didn’t need to hear it—she could feel the change, the sharp shift in their situation. The realization that they had been cut off from their only chance at survival hit her like a gut punch. They were isolated. Vulnerable. The world seemed to narrow to that single, crushing thought.

But there was no time to dwell.

They had to keep moving.

And so they ran.

The sounds of their footsteps were drowned out by the relentless barrage of Decepticon gunfire. Megatron’s presence was unmistakable—his voice, guttural and commanding, roaring through the battlefield. The screech of his massive frame cutting through the air was like the howl of a predator stalking its prey. Sam knew. She had seen him before. Megatron —the ruthless leader of the Decepticons, the harbinger of destruction. He was the storm they couldn’t outrun.

When they reached the site of the main battle, it was nothing short of madness. The battlefield was torn apart, a wasteland of twisted metal and craters that still smouldered with the aftermath of war. Sam’s heart pounded in her chest, fear gripping her as she tried to make sense of the chaos around her. But then—out of the thick haze of smoke and destruction—there they were.

Lennox. Epps. Jetfire.

A brief flash of relief rushed through Sam’s veins, like a lifeline thrown out in the middle of a storm. She barely had time to react before Lennox was there, guiding them with swift urgency, his voice cutting through the frenzy. “Get to cover! Now!”

But the relief was short-lived.

As they took cover, Sam's eyes widened with horror as she caught a glimpse of Megatron moving through the wreckage, a monstrous silhouette cutting through the carnage. She had seen him before— he was coming for Optimus. The battle was far from over, and Megatron had one singular, deadly purpose: to finish what he had started.

Sam's heart raced. She had seen him lay waste to so many before, and now, as Megatron’s towering form loomed ever closer, the gravity of the situation hit her like a freight train.

The blast came without warning.

One moment, Sam was taking cover behind a pile of rubble, her mind spinning in a haze of desperate thoughts. The next, there was nothing but an ear-splitting explosion, the deafening crack of the blast slicing through the air. The impact hit her with devastating force—her body thrown back as if she were a ragdoll. Her ears rang, her vision blurred, and in the chaos, she couldn’t even hear her own scream. The world tilted. The ground beneath her seemed to shift as if it was spinning, warping under the force of the explosion.

For a moment, there was nothing but pain. Pure, overwhelming pain.

And then, everything went dark.

For a split second, everything went silent.

The blaring chaos of the battlefield, the cries of pain, the distant rumble of explosions—all of it vanished. It was as though the universe itself had paused, holding its breath. In that brief moment, Sam’s entire existence seemed to stop. There was no more pain. No more fear. Just... stillness. A quiet that was almost comforting in its unnatural calm.

But it didn’t last.

Then the world came crashing back—sounds, flashes, pressure in her chest. Her body screamed in agony. Every nerve, every fibre of her being was on fire, aching, raw. Her breath was nothing more than a shallow gasp, an attempt at air that never came. It felt like her lungs had forgotten how to work, as if they had been locked in place, unwilling to move.

Why can’t I breathe?

It was a thought that echoed through her mind, simple yet impossibly heavy. Her hands trembled, her fingers desperate to claw at her chest, to feel her heartbeat, to somehow make sense of the complete and utter void in her lungs.

There were voices now—high-pitched, frantic, and above all, urgent. Sam couldn’t place them, couldn’t focus on their words. It was like the sound of muffled shouting, distant and distorted, a static hum that never fully resolved into meaning. But their panic seeped into her mind, vibrating through the fog.

Something’s wrong. Why isn’t she breathing?

The words echoed like a drumbeat in her head, their meaning slipping in and out of focus. The world around her wavered—shadows stretched and melted, forms and figures blurring into one solid haze of uncertainty.

A figure loomed above her, its shape dark and indistinct against the bright light that seemed to leak from the edges of her consciousness. It hovered over her like a shadow, yet Sam couldn’t turn her head to see clearly. The air smelled metallic, like burnt ozone and something far too sharp to bear. The heat from the surrounding desert felt distant now as if it no longer touched her skin.

Then she heard it—a sharp intake of breath, an urgent rush of someone moving toward her, their footsteps crunching the sand. A cold, heavy pressure pressed down on her chest—metal, smooth, cold. The next thing she felt was a violent shock. The world cracked open with the force of electrical paddles slamming into her body, the energy coursing through her like a violent lightning strike. Every muscle tensed. Every nerve lit up in agony.

“Stay with us, Sam!”

The voice was desperate, shaking, thick with fear. But Sam couldn’t respond. She couldn’t even open her eyes fully. Her body refused to obey her commands. Her arms felt like they had been anchored to the sand itself—heavy, lifeless. And then, the darkness crept further in, sinking into the edges of her vision, stealing what little light she had left.

Sam?

The voice again—soft, pleading—frantic with concern. She felt the touch of something—someone—around her, but it felt so far away. The words seemed to come from all around her, from the depths of a nightmare that she couldn't escape, couldn't wake from. It was as if the person calling her name was in a distant room, standing just out of reach.

She couldn’t answer. Her lips refused to part. Her mind couldn’t focus on the words. She couldn’t even feel her own heartbeat.

Am I dying?

The thought flickered through her mind like a passing storm, but it was a fleeting thing—an echo that barely made it past her foggy senses. Her heart wasn’t beating. She knew that much. The electrical jolt had been the only thing to disturb her body, a desperate attempt to restart what had already failed. But... she was still here.

Her pulse, or what should’ve been her pulse, was gone. But... I’m still here… The thought pushed against the edges of her consciousness like a fragile thing—a last scrap of clarity, barely holding on.

Please. Stay with us.

A voice, too far to touch, too far to understand, but there it was, reaching for her like a hand she could never grasp. Sam tried to reach back, to scream, to do anything to make it stop, to fight the cold, creeping sensation washing over her, but her body betrayed her. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even breathe.

And then—

There was nothing.

A pull.

It wasn’t painful, not at first. It was... strange, like being yanked from one world and thrust into another as if the very fabric of reality was being torn apart around her. It wasn’t the disorienting spin of vertigo or the ache of being dragged against her will. No, it was different. The pull was gentle at first, soft like the tug of a breeze that wanted to carry her away.

But then it grew stronger.

It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t fear. It was... something else —a force that drew her in, pulled her deeper, away from her broken body, away from the sounds of people shouting her name. It was like sinking through layers of existence, as though she was falling into the deepest part of herself, down past her memories, past her thoughts, into something pure, something ancient. She was being sucked way—not in agony, but with an inevitable, quiet calm.

It was as though the world itself had made its decision—her time here was done. But in the same breath, the world seemed to give her one last chance, one final, fleeting moment to exist in this world before her soul was lost forever. And as she was pulled through the veil between worlds, she felt weightless—detached, but in a way that wasn’t terrifying. It felt more like floating, like drifting on the softest of winds.

And then, there was no more.

Just silence.

The kind of silence that fills every corner of existence. The kind that comes when there is no more struggle, no more pain. Only the endless pull of the unknown.

Sam was no longer there. Not in the way she had been.

Chapter Text

Sam stood in a place that felt infinite.

At first, there was nothing but silence. The world around her was still, as though time itself had ceased to exist. There was no wind, no movement. The air, if it could even be called that, felt suspended, weightless, almost like she was floating in a vast, empty space that stretched on forever. It wasn’t like the desert. It wasn’t the battlefield with its suffocating heat and the scent of smoke that had burned her lungs. No. This place was different.

It was calm, but not in a comforting way. It was... profound.

Her feet, or what she thought were her feet, seemed to barely touch the ground. The surface beneath her was smooth and cool to the touch, the stone glowing softly, casting a strange, otherworldly light that made everything around her shimmer in hues she had never seen before. The glow didn’t feel harsh or artificial, but rather natural, as though it had always existed—an ancient light that spoke of timelessness.

She looked up. But there was no sky—no clouds or sun or even the familiar stretch of blue. There was only overwhelming darkness, thick and endless, stretching far beyond her vision as if the universe had been swallowed whole by something far larger than her comprehension. Stars twinkled faintly in the distance—so faint that they could have been illusions, mere figments of her imagination, reflections of light and memory. Or perhaps they were real, she thought, some far-flung embers from a distant cosmos, lingering just out of reach.

Her throat tightened. What is this place?

She felt the weight of her own thoughts pressing in, the eerie quiet giving her far too much space to consider the impossible. This wasn’t real, was it? Am I dead?

Her breath hitched as she thought back to the explosions, the pain, the shocking stillness as her heart had stopped. The weightlessness, the absence of breath. She had felt it—had known it, deep down—that she was leaving, slipping away. But now, standing in this infinite space, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was neither here nor there. She wasn’t alive, not in the way she had been. But she wasn’t truly dead either.

“Bee…” she whispered into the void, the name escaping her lips like a prayer, though she didn’t even know if he could hear her. She had to say it. She had to believe that somehow, somewhere, her friend would hear her voice again.

The word hung in the air for a moment, but no answer came.

Then, suddenly, as though the universe itself were listening, memories surged into her mind—vivid, full, alive.

Bumblebee. She remembered the countless conversations they had shared over the past two years—the way they had both struggled to understand one another at first, the way they had found a balance between the chaos of Earth and the order of Cybertron.

She could still remember the moments when Bee had looked at her with those bright, expressive optics, trying to convey his thoughts when words failed. She remembered how they laughed together, how they shared stories about their worlds—Earth’s oddities and Cybertron’s grandeur, its ancient culture, and the deep traditions that had shaped Bee’s entire existence.

But there was one conversation that stood out. The one about death.

In a quiet, uncertain moment, Bee had spoken of the Well —the place where Autobots who had fallen could rest. It was sacred. It was a resting place. A threshold between worlds. The cycle of life and death that the Autobots spoke of, one they had learned to understand, yet never fully conquer. A place where souls could pass on to peace.

He had told her about it gently, the way someone speaks of something both deeply understood and incomprehensible. Sam hadn’t understood it fully then—how could she? How could a human understand the final resting place of machines? How could she know the sacred significance of a place that had existed long before her own world had even taken shape?

But now, standing here, surrounded by the endless blackness, it made a strange kind of sense.

She was standing in it.

The Well.

It wasn’t just a concept anymore. It was real. And now that she was here, it felt... almost too familiar. She could sense its ancient power, the weight of countless souls that had passed through this place before her, each one leaving its mark on the very air around her. It felt like the air itself was thick with memories as if the fabric of existence here was stitched together from a million different stories, lives, and experiences.

The longer Sam stood in this place, the more she felt a tug inside her chest—a deep connection, a resonance that she had never felt before. The idea that this space was somehow linked to the Autobots' journey, to Bumblebee’s life, to Optimus and the Primes—it all became clearer. This wasn’t just a place for Autobots who had fallen. It was a place for those who had made the ultimate sacrifice. A place between life and death.

And yet... it wasn’t final . Not yet.

Sam’s mind swirled, caught between awe and confusion. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, disjointed fragments of memories and emotions that she couldn’t quite grasp. It was as though she was standing on the precipice of something monumental, yet so far out of her reach that she wasn’t sure whether to embrace it or flee. But there was nowhere to run—not here, not now.

Before her, a figure appeared—tall and imposing, but somehow... familiar. The figure stood as if carved from the very fabric of this place, ancient and timeless, yet there was something about it that felt... right. There was a quiet strength to it, a weight that seemed to fill the very air around her. Its form shimmered with energy, glowing softly, though its true shape remained indistinct.

Sam’s heart pounded in her chest. She knew, without fully understanding how, that this figure was not just an echo, not just a memory of something long gone. It was real. And it was waiting.

Her voice trembled slightly, uncertainty creeping in. "I’m not one of you," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. “I’m not an Autobot. Why am I here?”

The figure spoke, its voice deep, resonant, and yet strangely soothing. It seemed to echo from the very core of this place. “You have been chosen.”

Another figure, taller and more regal, emerged from the shadows, its presence commanding but not oppressive. This figure radiated an authority Sam couldn’t ignore, and a strange peace seemed to accompany its every movement. It stepped forward, its gaze resting on her with an understanding that made her feel both small and incredibly significant at the same time.

“You have died,” the regal figure said, his voice filled with an ancient power. “But in your death, you will fulfil a destiny—one entwined with the fate of the Autobots.”

Sam’s breath caught in her throat. I’m dead? The thought settled over her like a heavy fog. She had died, and yet, standing here in this otherworldly place, she couldn’t quite reconcile it with the feeling of being... alive . There had been pain. There had been darkness. But now, there was only this vastness.

Before she could react, a chorus of voices filled the space, their tones overlapping, reverberating with a weight that Sam could almost feel in her bones. The Primes—the voices of the ancient leaders of Cybertron—echoed around her, powerful and undeniable.

“The Matrix of Leadership rests within you,” one of the voices said, its sound a deep, resonant hum that vibrated through the ground beneath her. “You are its keeper, Sam Witwicky. You must accept your place, and guide those who will follow.”

At the mention of the Matrix, Sam’s heart raced. She knew what it was, what it symbolized. The Matrix wasn’t just an artefact—it was a key to the future, a symbol of leadership, of sacrifice. And now, it was hers.

Before her, the Matrix materialized, shimmering into existence like a relic of ancient power. It pulsed in the air, glowing with a brilliant, ethereal light that seemed to draw everything around it toward it. It was both overwhelming and calming. It beckoned to her.

Sam felt a tug in her chest, a pull as if the Matrix was calling her name, and instinctively, her hands reached out. As her fingers closed around the cool surface, an intense surge of energy rippled through her, filling her with a sense of purpose and an overwhelming weight of responsibility. She had seen the Matrix before—she had even held it before, in moments of great chaos. But this... this felt different. This wasn’t just a tool. This was a legacy. Her legacy. The weight of it pressed down on her, and she felt it in her bones.

Her fingers tightened around the Matrix, and as she did, the faces of the past Primes flickered before her, ethereal images of beings who had shaped Cybertron’s history. Their voices filled the air again, and the space around her seemed to thrum with their power. But then, one face appeared in her mind—one that made her heart stop.

It was him. Her great-grandfather.

His face appeared before her, smiling with a warmth and familiarity that made her chest tighten with emotion. His eyes, full of love and knowing, held hers for a long moment. And though he was not an Autobot, though his presence was not of Cybertron, there was something undeniable about the connection they shared.

“Remember, Sam,” he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of generations, “For a Witwicky, there is no victory without sacrifice.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. Sam’s breath caught in her throat. She had heard the phrase before—whispered like a legend, passed down through generations. But hearing it now, in the context of what she was facing, it hit her with a sharpness that made her heart ache.

The weight of it all was suffocating. She had always known, in the back of her mind, that her journey was never going to be without cost. But this... this was different. This wasn’t just about fighting for the Autobots, or Earth, or even for herself. This was about accepting what came with being a Witwicky. The price of victory. The cost of sacrifice.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she swallowed them down, forcing herself to smile. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because, deep down, she understood. Or maybe it was because she had accepted the burden. But in that moment, she knew—this was what was being asked of her. And she couldn’t run from it.

“No sacrifice,” she whispered, almost to herself. Her voice trembled, but there was a certainty in her words. She was making her choice.

As soon as the words left her lips, the face of her great-grandfather smiled at her—proud, knowing, and gentle. He nodded slowly, his expression softening as if in approval.

And then, before Sam could fully grasp the weight of the moment, he began to crumble. His form disintegrated into golden particles that floated softly around her like stardust carried away on an unseen breeze. The particles drifted, swirling gently before vanishing into the void, leaving her alone with her decision.

As she watched him fade away, she felt the enormity of the moment settles over her. The space around her—this place, this realm—was beginning to crumble as well. The light around her flickered, dimming as cracks appeared in the stone beneath her feet. The Primes, their faces fading into the distance, became shadows in the dark. The air grew heavier, the space more oppressive.

Everything was starting to break apart.

Sam closed her eyes, letting the weight of everything wash over her. She didn’t fight it. She didn’t try to resist. She knew what was coming. And as everything crumbled around her, she allowed herself a single, quiet moment of peace, accepting what was being asked of her.

And then, she was gone.

Chapter Text

The first thing Sam felt was a sensation that sent a jolt of awareness through her—cold, rough, and undeniably real. The ground beneath her was uneven, pressing against her skin in a way that felt foreign, almost painful. 

Her chest rose and fell with laboured breaths, each inhales feeling like she was remembering how to breathe all over again. 

Her senses were sluggish and heavy. She gasped, but her breath caught in her throat, her chest tight. Something felt wrong—like she was submerged in a fog, struggling to remember how to move. 

Her limbs felt heavy, her skin slick with sweat, and for a moment, Sam wondered if she was dreaming. But then the dizziness hit—so sharp and sudden—that she gasped, trying to clear her mind. Her heart pounded, a frantic rhythm in her ears, but her brain struggled to catch up.

 What happened? 

The world around her flickered in and out of focus as the pain of her injuries started to register. The echoes of her last memory—the explosion—played in her head like a distorted memory she couldn’t shake. 

She blinked, but the world didn’t clear. 

The world around her still felt like a blur, but she could feel the roughness of the sand under her palms, and taste the smoke in the air. The distant rumble of explosions echoed like thunder, but it was muffled, far away. 

Where am I? 

Her senses came back in fragments: the scent of smoke, the stinging heat in the air, the distant echoes of chaos—shouts, gunfire, explosions. Each sensation hit her like a wave, and it was too much. Too much, too quickly. 

Her body jerked in sudden, painful movement as she tried to sit up, the action uncontrolled, her limbs shaky and unsure. A wave of dizziness overcame her, and for a moment, it felt like her entire existence was slipping away. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it thundering in her ears, and the dizziness swelled to the point where her vision blackened for a second. Focus, Sam, focus. The ground beneath her shifted—too real—and with a frantic gasp, she rolled off the stretcher, her body hitting the cold, unforgiving sand with a brutal thud. 

The ground rushed up to meet her, cold and rough, but it was a shock to her system. Real. Solid. Real. Her hands scraped the sand, and she hissed, gritting her teeth, trying to make sense of the overwhelming disorientation that clouded her mind.  

A sharp pain flared through her side, but it didn’t stop her. 

The impact sent a jolt of pain through her side, but that didn’t stop her. Her heart pounded in her chest, fast and erratic, like it was trying to make up for lost time. Panic gripped her, her hands shaking violently as she pushed herself to her knees, gasping for air as if she had forgotten how to breathe properly.

Why can't I... Why am I—

Panic surged through her as she instinctively pushed herself up, her head still spinning as she tried to get her bearings. Sam’s breath hitched as she registered the overwhelming dizziness—the sharp, disorienting sensation of the world spinning around her. Her head throbbed, her vision darkening around the edges, as though she might fall back into unconsciousness. No, no... stay awake!

“Sam!” 

Two voices cut through the haze of confusion, and she heard their boots crunching on the sand as they rushed towards her direction.

 Lennox. 

Epps. 

She could feel them beside her, their presence so familiar, but their voices were edged with panic. Their hands were gentle yet frantic as they tried to steady her, pulling her back into an upright position. 

Lennox’s voice shook as he knelt beside her, the urgency clear in his words. 

“Sam? What the hell? How are you—?” He stopped mid-sentence as if the words were stuck in his throat, his hands hovering over her like he didn’t know what to do. 

Epps’ voice followed closely, tinged with disbelief. “Holy hell,” Epps whispered, “ “Sam! Are you… are you okay?” 

There was no explanation. He had felt her body go cold. He had watched them try everything to resuscitate her. They had used the defibrillators. Nothing had worked. But now, she was alive, gasping for breath like someone who had just woken from a nightmare. 

Sam blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision, her chest heaving as she took in short, shallow breaths. 

She hadn’t felt like this before—this off. She wasn’t sure where she was or how she had come back. She tried to speak, but her throat was raw, and constricted, as if her body hadn’t gotten the memo that it should be breathing again. 

Her head swam with confusion, and she lifted a shaky hand to her chest, feeling the frantic beat of her heart. 

Lennox was already checking her pulse, fingers pressed to her wrist, eyes darting between her face and his watch, his mind working in overdrive. 

He was performing the kind of check that anyone would do when faced with a person who had just come back to life—scrutinizing every breath she took, every flutter of her eyelids. 

“Her pulse is strong. Her pupils are reactive,” he muttered to himself, but the words didn’t make sense. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

“She was dead,” Epps murmured, his voice full of disbelief as if trying to convince himself. “We saw her die.” 

“I’m—” Sam gasped, struggling to form words. “I need to find-” 

Lennox’s face was a mix of awe and confusion. “Sam, stay with me, alright?” He wasn’t even sure if he should be asking her to stay still or try to help her move. 

But all he knew for sure was that Sam had just gone from lifeless to alive in the span of a heartbeat. 

Epps had a grim look on his face as he looked around at the chaos of the battlefield, but his attention was entirely on Sam. 

“We—we gotta get you checked out. We don’t know what just happened.” 

He wasn’t just talking about her wounds. He was talking about her coming back. It was the sort of thing no one prepared for.

 But Sam didn’t seem to register that—she couldn’t. 

She didn’t even feel the throbbing pain in her chest, the pounding headache, or the sharp burn of the sand against her skin. 

Something else had taken over her mind now. She had a mission. She had a destiny to complete. 

The Matrix.

Her fingers brushed against the cold metal, and instinctively, she reached for it, her grip tightening around the familiar shape. 

She clutched it tightly in her hands, almost as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded in this chaotic world. She could feel its weight in her palms, a tangible link to something far greater than herself. 

The energy from it pulsed softly against her skin, comforting her, reminding her that her purpose—her destiny—was far from over.

“I’m fine,” Sam croaked, trying to steady her voice, but there was a tremor to it. She had to shake this off. She had to wake up. There’s no time for this. War... I have to get back.

Lennox didn’t seem convinced. His hand went to her arm, checking for any obvious injuries. He still couldn’t wrap his head around this. He had seen it before—he had seen death in his line of work. But is Sam coming back from it? That wasn’t something he was prepared for.

Epps was looking over her injuries, checking her wounds. He gently but insistently pressed against her side, making sure there was no internal bleeding. 

“You’re not fine, we—” He paused, looking at Lennox as if seeking confirmation that this wasn’t just some cruel trick. “Sam, you were gone. We tried to bring you back with the paddles, but—”

Paddles?

Sam remembered now. Her heart had stopped. She had died. She had felt the sensation of being pulled away—pulled into something bigger than herself. She had seen them. The Primes. Their voices, their power. She had seen her great-grandfather, his words cutting through the darkness of that place.

“No sacrifice,” she whispered, as if the words themselves were an anchor, tethering her to this reality.

Lennox’s face twisted in confusion as he looked at her, trying to piece together what was happening. “What… what are you talking about, Sam?”

“I’m fine,” Sam repeated more firmly, shaking her head, willing herself to focus. The chaos around her was still too much, but she had to pull herself together. She wasn’t just some kid who’d stumbled into a war. She was the keeper of the Matrix now. She had to be.

Despite the dizziness that still lingered, despite the pounding in her skull and the ache that filled every inch of her body, Sam clutched the Matrix with both hands and pushed herself to her feet, her legs unsteady but determined.

Epps and Lennox moved to catch her, but she waved them off, glancing at them with a mix of gratitude and purpose. She wasn’t going to fall. Not now. She had come too far. The war was still here, and it needed her.

“Sam, you can’t stand. You’re not okay—” Lennox tried to argue, but Sam shook her head, her eyes fierce.

“I have to be.” Her voice was softer this time, but it was steady.

Sam’s vision blurred as she took in the chaos surrounding her, her senses assaulted by the violent thrashing of battle. The dessert she had once known was unrecognizable now, a war-torn wasteland where the cries of soldiers and the anguished roars of the Autobots filled the air. She had left this behind.

But now, it felt like a lifetime ago.

The Matrix of Leadership in her hands throbbed with power, its energy alive, responsive to her touch, yet the enormity of its weight pressed down on her. It was as though she could feel the responsibility of it pulling at her very being.

But none of that mattered now. She couldn’t let herself dwell on what had brought her back—on the questions swirling in her mind or the emotions gripping her heart. There was only one thing in her world now. One thing that kept her moving forward.

Optimus.

The Autobots—her family, her comrades—were barely holding their ground. They fought valiantly, their movements sharp and calculated, but there were too many of them. The Decepticons surged forward, their dark forms like a relentless tide, pushing back with unforgiving force. The ground trembled beneath her feet as explosions rocked the battlefield. One blast hit too close, sending shockwaves through the air, sending Sam stumbling, her legs buckling beneath her as she fought to keep her balance. 

The heat from the flames surrounding her burned against her skin, the searing inferno seeming to claw at her very soul.

She could feel it—the weight of everything pressing down. The heat from the fires, the smoke choking the air, the thunder of explosions all around her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to shake the dizziness away, her breath ragged as she steadied herself.

 She wiped a trembling hand across her face, trying to clear her vision, but the smoke and chaos of the battlefield blurred everything around her.

And then—there he was.

Optimus Prime.

It was as if the world went still, everything fading into the background as she saw him.

His once-immense figure, towering and proud, now lay motionless in the crumbling dirt. His massive frame was twisted unnaturally, the brilliant red and blue of his armour now dulled and battered. His optics—those fierce, compassionate eyes that had once seen the good in humanity—were now dark, void of life. His body, so full of strength and wisdom, now seemed like nothing more than a shell, discarded on the battlefield.

The fire raged around her, and the ground continued to shake beneath her feet,  but it all seemed distant, muted. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. Her world had narrowed to the crumpled form of Optimus Prime lying in the dirt.

This was the moment that defined it all, she thought, her heart aching as she glanced at his motionless form. This is why I fought. This is why we all fought.

Sam's hands shook as she clutched the Matrix of Leadership in her grip. It was warm, pulsing with a strange, unfamiliar energy that vibrated with the power of the ancient artefact. The raw energy was like a heartbeat, resonating with her own, sending a wave of power through her, reminding her of what she was now. 

She had died.

She knew she had.

She had seen the Well, stood among the Primes, and felt their weight on her soul.

But now, here she was—alive, or at least, alive enough. 

Sam knew she wasn’t the same as she had been before. She wasn’t the same girl who had stumbled into this war so many years ago. No. Now she was something else. Something bigger. The Matrix had brought her back—not as a witness, not as a bystander—but as its keeper. As a champion. A vessel, an unexpected champion of a dying world. The Matrix had brought her back for something greater. She felt it pulse through her, resonating with a frequency that called to her very core. But she could barely focus on that now. She couldn’t think about the cost, the price of this strange existence. Not now.

Not while Optimus Prime lay dying in the dirt. Not while the Autobots were fighting for their very existence.

She couldn’t leave him behind. 

Her chest constricted painfully as she sucked in a breath, steadying herself. She glanced around, her eyes scanning the battlefield. The distance between her and Optimus felt endless. She was further away than she realized—too far for her liking. They’d carried her away on a stretcher, trying to save her life. But now she wasn’t some helpless girl anymore. She wasn’t the burden.

I’m the one who has to save him.

Lennox and Epps exchanged a look, still frozen in disbelief. Neither of them had been prepared for this.

“I suggest you run if you don’t want to die,” Sam said, her voice steady now, but there was an undercurrent of emotion she couldn’t hide. The tears she had held back earlier began to sting at the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

With the Matrix still in her grasp, she stood up straighter, pushing through the pain. 

The battlefield was calling her. 

Sam pushed herself forward, her body protesting every movement, but her resolve pushed her on. She took a shaky step, then another, and then—without hesitation—she broke into a run.

She didn’t think about the fire that licked at her skin or the chaos that erupted around her. She didn’t think about the explosions that tore at the ground beneath her feet. All that mattered was reaching him.

Through the debris, through the burning wreckage, through the fog of war—she ran. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath ragged, but she pushed forward. She had no choice. She had to get to him. He was the reason she was here. The reason this war still had meaning.

The ground shook violently as another explosion went off nearby, but Sam didn’t stop. She couldn’t afford to stop. Not when he needed her.

Her vision blurred. The world around her turned into a haze of fire and smoke. But her heart—her heart knew. It knew what she had to do.

She had to get to Optimus.

The battlefield stretched before her in a chaos of fire and destruction. The ground trembled with the force of explosions. Smoke curled into the sky, thick and acrid, choking the air. Gunfire cracked through the distance, the shriek of Cybertronian weapons ripping through steel and flesh alike.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she sprinted across the uneven ground, weaving between smouldering wreckage and bodies, both human and metal. The heat of an explosion seared past her left side, too close—too damn close. She ducked on instinct, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. The shockwave slammed into her back, sending her stumbling forward, but she refused to fall.

Move. Keep moving.

A Decepticon missile streaked through the sky, slamming into a nearby tank. The force sent debris flying, shrapnel slicing through the air like knives. Sam threw herself into a slide, hitting the dirt hard as burning metal rained down around her. A chunk of twisted steel buried itself in the sand inches from her face.

Too close.

She scrambled to her feet, legs burning with exhaustion, and kept running. Every second mattered.

Up ahead, Autobot and Decepticon titans clashed in brutal, earth-shaking combat.

Bumblebee moved like a phantom, dodging heavy fire and returning it tenfold. The battle was relentless, merciless.

And she was in the middle of it.

A Decepticon loomed to her right—a monstrous form of shifting metal, optics glowing with predatory intent. Barricade.

His gaze locked onto her.

Sam barely had time to react before he lunged.

Her instincts screamed, and she pivoted sharply, dirt kicking up beneath her boots as she veered off-course. The massive hand that would have crushed her into the ground scraped past her, missing by inches.

She didn’t stop to look back. She couldn’t.

Her lungs burned, and her muscles screamed in protest, but she forced herself forward, faster, harder. The Matrix pulsed in her hands, a beacon of purpose, of power. The ground quaked beneath her as another explosion rocked the battlefield.

She dove forward, rolling as a blast hit just behind her, the shockwave nearly lifting her off her feet. Her ears rang, the world blurring for a split second before she forced herself upright again.

There—just ahead.

The chaos of the battlefield faded into nothing as Sam knelt on the scorched ground, her breath coming in jagged gasps. The air around her seemed thick with tension like the entire world was holding its breath. She didn’t hesitate. She wasn’t thinking. All that mattered was him.

Optimus.

Her hands shook as they gripped the Matrix of Leadership, now a blade in her grasp, the energy of its power thrumming through her. She didn’t pause to wonder why or how she was holding it. She knew what she had to do. There was no time for questions, only action.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her heart racing, and pressed the sharp edge of the Matrix blade against the hard, scorched surface of the tarmac that had been forced over Optimus’s fallen form. With all the strength she could muster, Sam ripped the tarmac away, the sound of metal scraping and cracking loud in the heavy air.

Beneath her, Optimus Prime lay motionless, his massive frame broken, bloodied, and battered. The once-immense, imposing figure was now just a hulking mass of twisted metal and lifeless energy. Sam felt her throat tighten, her eyes burning as she struggled to contain the wave of sorrow threatening to overwhelm her. But there was no time for grief. Not now.

She climbed atop him, her body protesting with every move, her limbs shaking from the exertion and the sheer force of will it took to continue. The Matrix burned in her hands, urging her onward, as though it was alive and aware of the gravity of this moment.

Kneeling atop his chest, Sam leaned forward, her breath shaky, her voice breaking. “Please...” she whispered, the word barely more than a breath as it escaped her lips. Her fingers pressed the Matrix against his chest, feeling the thrum of energy resonate through his broken body.

“Come back,” she whispered again, her voice raw with desperation, her heart beating out of her chest. This was it. This was all she could do. The weight of the world felt like it was on her shoulders, the very fate of everything balanced on this singular act.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Time stretched, each second becoming an eternity. Sam’s heart pounded louder in her chest as she held her breath, waiting. Waiting for something—anything—to happen. But nothing. No light. No change. The battlefield raged around them, but in this small, fragile moment, it was just her and him.

Her hand slipped from the Matrix, the feeling of failure sinking into her chest. But just as the darkness of hopelessness began to envelop her, something stirred.

The Matrix cracked.

A sudden burst of light, blinding in its intensity, flared into existence, flooding the battlefield with a golden glow. The air seemed to vibrate with the sheer force of the energy, and the ground trembled beneath her. Sam’s hands burned, her fingers becoming one with the Matrix’s essence as the power surged through her, pouring into Optimus Prime with an unstoppable force.

His massive body jerked once, then again, as the energy flooded into him. Sam felt it, felt the moment he was coming back to life, felt the power surge through him as his optics flared open with a fierce, burning blue light.

A ragged gasp escaped him, the sound of life returning to him, and Sam’s heart skipped a beat. His enormous hand twitched, his fingers instinctively reaching out, searching, desperate.

"Sam?" His voice, deep and rich, filled the air around them, and Sam couldn’t help the flood of relief that of relief wash over her, an overwhelming surge of joy that almost made her collapse in exhaustion.

Her eyes filled with tears, a mixture of joy, fear, and disbelief. She had done it. She had brought him back.

"Sam?" His voice rumbled from deep within his chest, a familiar warmth that sent a shock of relief through her. The depth of it, the richness of it—it was real. He was real. And he was alive.

Tears welled in Sam's eyes, a mixture of disbelief, fear, and joy. The tears streamed down her cheeks, but they were tears of hope, of triumph.

"Optimus," she whispered, her voice barely audible, choked with emotion. "Hi. I'm... so glad you're back."

Optimus’s optics, which had once been dim and lifeless, now glowed with a fierce, burning light. They focused on her, steady and unwavering. "Samantha Jane Witwicky," he said, his voice rich with gratitude, with awe. "You came back for me."

The words sank deep into Sam’s heart, grounding her in the reality of the moment. She had always known her purpose—her reason for fighting—but hearing him say those words, knowing she had done something so immense, filled her with a sense of peace. She didn’t need to say anything back just yet. The simple truth was there in the air between them.

But before Sam could reply, before she could catch her breath and formulate her thoughts, she saw it in his eyes. His relief, so powerful and palpable just a moment ago, began to fade. His gaze turned to something darker, something more primal.

It was fear.

Fear struck Sam before she even understood what was happening. The panic in his eyes was real—deep, raw, and desperate.

Her hands, still holding the Matrix, began to flicker. Her fingers trembled as the golden light began to spread across her skin. The light was strange—flickering, unravelling—as if her very being was dissolving in the wake of the Matrix's power.

Her body shifted, the particles of her form coming undone as golden embers floated into the air like fireflies. She could feel it. She wasn’t just dying. She was vanishing.

Sam exhaled, her breath trembling. A final, painful exhale, knowing this was it. The truth settled in her chest like a weight. This was what the Matrix had cost her. She had given everything to bring Optimus back, but now the price had come due. The resurrection had been a temporary bridge between two worlds, but it was never meant to last.

Her body—her life—was burning away, piece by piece.

Her breath caught in her chest as she looked up at Optimus, his face contorted with frantic panic. She could see him—the warrior, the protector—who had always fought so selflessly for others. Now, that same strength was desperate, trying to stop her from slipping away. But Sam knew there was no stopping it. This was the price.

"I had to repay the favour," she whispered, her voice soft but filled with resolve. The words were simple, but they meant everything. She had lived for him, fought for him, and in the end, she had given her life to save him.

The warmth of his presence, the comfort of knowing she had fulfilled her purpose, filled her heart. She would die content, knowing she had saved him. She had ensured the war would continue, that the Autobots would still have a chance.

Optimus’s massive hands, trembling, reached out, trying to grab onto her fading form. His voice cracked, desperation leaking through. “No—Sam—”

But there was no more time.

Before he could say anything else, it was too late.

Her body exploded into brilliant light. The golden brilliance that had been consuming her entire being erupted outward, brighter than the sun, consuming everything in its path. The light burned, bright and fierce, scattering golden fragments of her form into the air like stars being torn from the sky. Each tiny piece flickered and faded, leaving behind only the fading echo of what had been.

Then—nothing.

Sam Witwicky was gone.

Chapter Text

Sam drifted into a vast, endless abyss. There was no up, no down, no light, no sound—just infinite darkness surrounding her. She felt weightless, detached from everything. Her form, once so tangible, now seemed to dissipate into the air itself, a mere flicker of existence.

She wasn’t sure where she was, or even who she was anymore.

There was a feeling of presence. Something—someone—was there with her. But she couldn't grasp it, couldn’t see it. She could only feel their power.

You deserve another chance.

The voice that echoed through the darkness was not mechanical, like the Autobots. It was not human either. It was ancient. It held a resonance that made her entire being tremble. It was more than a voice—it was a presence, an entity that filled the space, filling her with an odd sense of... recognition. She didn't understand, but she felt it down to the very depths of her soul.

Sam tried to speak, tried to reach out. Her thoughts, though, were a tangled mess. Shattered memories. Fading whispers. All of it mingled together until she couldn't distinguish her own thoughts from the world of echoes that surrounded her.

Her mind struggled to form the question, but the words wouldn’t come. Her thoughts, her identity, were slipping—sliding through her grasp like water through her fingers.

Then, the void shifted.

It no longer felt like just emptiness. It was alive —pulsing, shifting, rearranging. The very fabric of space seemed to bend around her as if the universe itself was rewriting itself. And Sam, she was part of it. She felt herself shifting too. Her body, her essence, was being... remade .

She tried to hold on to something. Anything. But she was adrift. Completely powerless.

Before she could even begin to understand what was happening, she was falling. Not falling through space or the void, but through it—tumbling through memories, through flashes of moments she couldn’t place. They passed by too quickly for her to hold onto. Every second bled into the next, and time itself felt... fragile. Like it was being torn apart and stitched back together in a thousand different ways.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything stopped.

Stillness.

Sam floated, weightless. Her mind was calm, yet fragmented. She didn’t feel alive. She didn’t feel dead. She felt like she was simply... being.

And somewhere in the distance, the voices of the Matrix and the Allspark rumbled to life. Their words, distant yet undeniable, began to echo in the vastness of her existence.

“She is mine,” said the Matrix, its voice rich with certainty, filled with authority. “She has restored the Prime. She has proven herself worthy of the mantle. She is a Prime now, as I always foresaw.”

The Allspark responded with quiet, ancient power, its voice carrying the weight of eons. “No, Matrix. She was not meant for this. She is my champion. She carries the spark of creation itself. Her purpose is greater than the role of a Prime. She must not be bound by your destiny.”

Sam felt them. Felt their words as if they were part of her now. She couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t control it. She could only float, suspended in the tension between them, her fate entirely in their hands.

“She is a part of us, yes,” the Matrix continued, a soft warmth in its tone, “But she was meant to lead. She has the heart of a Prime, and she is worthy.”

The Allspark's voice softened with a deep, knowing power. “She is not a weapon to be wielded. She is not for you to claim, Matrix. She has already given enough. Her journey is not over yet, but it must not be shaped by your design.”

Sam couldn’t speak, couldn’t intervene. She was a passenger in this moment, adrift in the space between their bickering words. Their decision would be made for her, and all she could do was exist.

She had given everything for the fight. For Optimus. For the Autobots.

But what was left? What was she, if neither the Matrix nor the Allspark would give her a clear path?

And still, she floated— suspended —as the voices continued to echo, circling around her, deciding her fate.

And then, for a brief, fleeting moment, the world—no, the void—felt silent.

The tension broke.

“She deserves another chance,” came a voice, quiet yet filled with an undeniable weight. It was not the Matrix. It was not the Allspark. It was something older. Something beyond them.

Sam’s consciousness stirred. Something inside her whispered that the decision was made. Something larger than she understood had chosen her path. Chosen her fate.

And before she could grasp it fully, before the forces of the Matrix and the Allspark could speak again, Sam felt the world around her move .

The silence was gone. The darkness was pulling back.

She wasn’t just floating anymore.

She was falling toward something.

Chapter Text

The next thing Sam knew, she was gasping for air. The cool, dry rush filled her lungs in a frantic, uneven rhythm, her chest heaving as it struggled to keep pace. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, sharp and unrelenting, as though it were trying to force her body to adjust to something that couldn’t quite catch up with her mind.

Her skin prickled, an overwhelming, almost painful awareness flooding her senses. She felt the coolness of the sheets, the weight of her body against a soft surface. Too real. The fabric beneath her fingertips was real. The air was real. Everything was real.

But it wasn’t right. She was still adjusting to the confusion—hadn’t she just been lost in darkness, floating? There had been nothingness, the eternal void. And now... Now she was here.

Sam’s eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly against the harsh, unfamiliar light that suddenly surrounded her. It was blinding at first, and her vision swam as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

A ceiling. A ceiling she didn’t recognize. Her mind couldn't quite connect the dots fast enough. And beneath her... a bed? A real bed. Soft, plush, the kind of comfort she hadn’t known for... how long? How long had it been? She felt as though she had been floating in space for centuries. Yet, here she was, alive.

Sunlight filtered softly through the blinds, casting a golden hue across the room. It was the warmth of a peaceful morning, far too serene after the chaos she’d just experienced. The quiet seemed almost too perfect, too still, after the endless, disorienting darkness. Sam’s senses were assaulted by the unfamiliar calm, as though the universe was trying to convince her that everything was okay when it was anything but.

She slowly took in her surroundings, her eyes scanning the room with a mixture of disbelief and growing anxiety. The room looked like her own—a dorm room that had once been filled with her belongings. The same faded posters on the walls, the same desk cluttered with notebooks, pens, and scraps of paper. But as she looked closer, the details didn’t match up. The posters were the same—Star Wars, her favourite sports teams—but there was something off. Something that felt… wrong.

Her gaze fell to the wall above her desk. A banner hung there, simple and bold, with bright, cheerful lettering: “WELCOME TO PRINCETON” .

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. Her blood ran cold as her mind tried to process what her eyes were seeing. No, no, no—this wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be real.

Princeton? What the hell? She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Her hands trembled as she rubbed her eyes, trying to dispel the illusion in front of her. She blinked hard, willing the banner to disappear, willing the impossible to fade, but it remained. WELCOME TO PRINCETON.

Her breath hitched in her chest as her head spun, her pulse racing faster now as panic began to take root. The walls, the bed, the desk—it all looked so familiar. And yet, it wasn’t right. This wasn’t the room she’d been in when she first got to college. This wasn’t Stanford.

Sam’s eyes darted to the window, hoping for a sign of something she could recognize. The familiar view of the campus outside was there—tall trees swaying in the gentle breeze, the expansive green quad stretching out below. She knew this view. She’d seen it a hundred times during the weeks she’d spent getting to know her new home at Stanford.

But this wasn’t Stanford.

The reality hit her like a punch to the gut. Her vision blurred as she tried to process it. The campus she was looking at wasn’t Stanford at all. The buildings, the layout, the skyline—it was Princeton.

Her stomach twisted.

Was she dreaming?

Her body trembled with the weight of the revelation. This was too real to be a dream. But if it wasn’t a dream, then what the hell was happening?

In a daze, Sam staggered to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her as she crossed to the desk. She didn’t know how to process any of this. But the sight of the banner— WELCOME TO PRINCETON —was like a slap across the face, a reminder that everything she thought she knew had been turned upside down.

What had happened to her? Where was she? Why was everything wrong?

Her pulse quickened. Panic surged through her as she spun around, desperate to make sense of the shifting, unfamiliar world around her. She was searching for something—anything—that would offer an explanation, some thread of reality to cling to. But as she scanned the room again, the dissonance hit her like a crashing wave, overwhelming her senses.

The posters were the same, the desk—the same. But everything else was off. It wasn’t just the small details; it was everything about the room. It felt wrong. The walls, the furniture, the very air she was breathing—it all seemed to shift and change before her eyes. Stanford dorms were small, sure, but they had always had a modern, minimalist touch—sleek designs, clean lines, and high-tech furniture. But here... here the walls were different. Instead of the typical minimalist style she was used to, the space was filled with vintage charm. The furniture was older, almost antique. The wooden shelves had a weathered look to them, the kind that hinted at years—decades—of history, with a slightly rustic feel to everything. The desk was made of dark wood, scratched in places with a patina that only time could create.

Sam’s chest tightened, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could barely breathe as the full weight of the realization settled on her. This wasn’t her room. 

She tried to steady herself, reaching out for something stable, something she could hold onto, but the more she looked around, the less it felt like her space. The sense of dislocation became more acute as if she didn’t belong here—and she didn’t. She wasn’t sure who this room belonged to, but it sure as hell wasn’t her.

Her eyes moved slowly across the desk, still trying to make sense of everything. She felt the ground beneath her feet as though the very foundation of her reality had cracked. And then—her gaze landed on something that stopped her in her tracks.

A card. It was neatly placed on the desk, resting casually among the papers, as if it had always been there. Sam’s hand froze mid-air as she reached for it, an inexplicable tension building in her chest. The card was simple—just white with a few colourful doodles—but the message hit her like a hammer.

“Happy 20th, Sam!” it read in loopy, hurried handwriting, a signature at the bottom that she couldn’t quite make out.

Wait. What?

Sam’s heart stuttered in her chest. 20th?

Her stomach twisted, and a wave of nausea hit her as the weight of it settled in. She blinked, her vision blurring as she read the card again, her mind struggling to make sense of the words. She was 18 when she got into Stanford—she had just been 18 when she’d received that life-changing letter, the one that marked the beginning of a new chapter. But now... now it was two years later? She was 20?

Her mind raced, trying to connect the dots. But nothing made sense. She had just been through hell—through a battle with Decepticons, fighting for her life, fighting for the survival of everything she knew. And now she was here. 

Why the hell was she turning 20? And why the hell did that card look like it had been sitting there for days? She’d only been through the chaos recently—she had been on the verge of death, the universe was collapsing around her, and now... now it was like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t even left.

Her fingers trembled as she turned the card over, hoping, praying, that something on the back might explain the growing pit in her stomach, but it was blank.

Her eyes scanned the room again, her gaze moving slowly over every inch as if she could somehow piece the fragments of this new reality together. Her breath caught in her throat when she noticed it, the thing she had somehow missed before—the pinboard, or was it a massive whiteboard? She couldn’t even find the right word for it, but it was a fixture in her room. She’d always had one. A place for memories.

Her eyes locked on it. It was bare. Empty.

Her stomach dropped.

Her pinboard—her bulletin board—had always been full. Covered with pictures. Memories. But now? There was nothing.

She took a step closer, almost afraid to see what she knew would be true. The once familiar faces, the photos that had always been there, the ones she’d kept as little pieces of her past, were missing. Gone. As if someone had erased them from existence.

The pictures. The ones she’d always had.

There were no pictures of her with Mikaela—the girl who had been her best friend, the one who had stuck by her side through thick and thin. There were no graduation photos, no smiling faces from that momentous day. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, that soft but insistent tone, reminding her that she had to bring those pictures. “Don’t forget about us, Sam. Don’t forget about where you came from. Take the pictures. They’re important.” Her mother had always been so sentimental, always worrying that Sam might forget. Forget them. Forget her roots. Forget her family.

But now... now there was nothing. Not even a trace.

No photos of her with Mikaela at that old diner they used to frequent, no photos of Mikaela forcing her on shopping trips and blurry pictures from the dressing rooms as they try on outfits, no photos of prom or any pictures from their high school days together. No shots from their crazy summer road trip, where they had driven across state lines with nothing but a mixtape and a cooler full of snacks. Not a single photo from those times—the ones she could never forget, no matter where she was, no matter how far she had gone.

And the photos... the ones that always had to be there. The ones of the Autobots.

Her breath hitched in her chest as she tried to focus. The Autobots. She’d spent countless hours snapping photos with them, even if they weren’t always in their towering robot forms. Bumblebee, her first car, her sweet ride that she had always considered a gift—no, the whole team—had been captured in the photos too. His bright yellow body gleamed under the sunlight, parked next to Optimus Prime, Ratchet, and Ironhide, their alt-forms standing proudly in the parking lot where they had always met. She had taken so many pictures of them, their sleek car forms shining under the sun, and she’d kept them close, even when everything else had seemed like it was falling apart.

She remembered the first time she had snapped a picture of Bumblebee—before everything got complicated. Before the war, the fights, the losses. He had been her protector. Her friend. His old yellow Camaro had been more than just a car. It had been a piece of their bond.

But now? Nothing.

The room was empty of them. The absence was deafening. It was as though they had never been in her life, those precious memories ripped from her very existence.

Her first car, she thought, and the feeling of Bumblebee’s presence should have flooded her with warmth. That was supposed to be one of the moments she could never forget. But now? The memory that bloomed in her mind wasn’t of Bumblebee at all.

Instead, she remembered her dad. Standing in front of her, grinning like he was proud of himself. It was her sixteenth birthday, and there it was—a motorbike, sleek and fast, glimmering in the light as if it were meant to be hers. The polished chrome. The streamlined design. The roar of the engine. Her heart had leapt with excitement, and for a second, she’d felt like the luckiest teenager alive.

But... $4,000?

Her brow furrowed. Why would her dad spend that much money? He was frugal—cheap, even, when it came to buying things that weren’t necessary. And a motorbike? That didn’t make sense. He hated wasting money, especially on something like this. So why?

She tried to remember the exact details, the moments leading up to the gift, and slowly, she pieced it together: the auto shop they had gone to, the cluttered, grimy floors, the walls lined with dusty motorcycles and the hum of mechanics working in the background. It wasn’t some high-end dealership with pristine, glossy cars. No, it was just a regular shop, where her father had said, “They don’t have any good cars right now.”

Cars. That was what Sam had been expecting. A car. She had always dreamed of a car—one that could take her anywhere, one that might bring her closer to the Autobots, even if she didn’t fully understand why back then.

But this? This motorbike... it was so foreign. She’d felt the rush of excitement as she’d taken it for a ride—its engine roaring to life beneath her. The same feeling of accomplishment she’d always associated with Bumblebee, the feeling of breaking free from the past, from the shackles of high school. But no Bumblebee. No Autobot.

The memories of that day weren’t the same as the ones she had shared with Bumblebee. The way she’d sat in that car, feeling its pulse, its life, its energy—all of it seemed so distant now. Like a dream, she couldn’t quite reach. Instead, her memory of that day with the motorbike was almost the same—the same rush, the same joy, but different. More hollow. Less... meaningful.

It was as though her whole life had been reshaped. The pieces didn’t fit together anymore, and the gap between what she remembered and what she was experiencing felt wrong—as if something was off.

The motorbike wasn’t just a replacement in the physical sense. It was as if everything had shifted. Everything. 

Sam felt the ground beneath her spin as the weight of the room pressed down on her. It wasn’t just the memory of Bumblebee that had been replaced—it was everything. Her life, the choices she had made, the path she had walked... all of it had been rewritten.

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as she slowly, almost reluctantly, turned to face the mirror across the room. She had avoided it earlier, too afraid to confront what she knew would be different.

But now—now she couldn’t avoid it anymore.

She froze.

There, staring back at her, was a reflection that didn’t feel like hers. The face was still her own, but something was unmistakably wrong. Her eyes—her eyes—were no longer the familiar brown she remembered. They were a cold, hard silver, gleaming like metal. They looked... unnatural. Like something from a nightmare. They were almost mechanical, like the eyes of a Cybertronian—sharp, glinting like steel. She couldn’t look away.

What the hell?

Her hands shot up to her face, trembling as she touched her cheeks, her jaw. The skin was the same, but it felt... different. Her jawline, once soft, was now sharper, more angular like it had been chiselled from stone. Her face had lost the roundness she remembered, replaced by something almost... cut—slim, sharp, like it had been sculpted by a machine. She looked different. Not in the way that time changed a person, but in a way that felt... unnatural.

Her eyes moved down, scanning her hair. The rich brown that used to cascade down her back was now darker, almost black, a stark contrast to the way it had been before. It looked as if the colour had been stolen from the very depths of the AllSpark itself. Her fingers brushed through it, the strands softer than they had ever been, but different—shorter than they’d ever been. It didn’t feel like her. She had always kept it long, always brushed it out meticulously in front of her mirror. The memories of braiding it with Mikaela or pulling it back before working on cars—they were there, but they felt like they belonged to someone else.

This wasn’t her. Not fully.

Her gaze fell to her body, and as she moved, a strange sensation washed over her. Her arms—her arms—were more muscular than she remembered. She flexed them absentmindedly, the definition in her muscles almost alien. When had this happened? She had never been this strong. She had never worked out like this. The lean strength was almost too much to grasp. It was like her body had been sculpted from metal—built, strong, different. More... like a Cybertronian.

She stumbled backwards in shock, her heart racing, and without thinking, she knocked into the nearby desk. The sudden collision made her gasp, and she braced herself, steadying herself against the edge.

But that jolt of motion sent a few books toppling off the desk.

Her hands shot out to catch them, and she quickly bent down, her mind still spinning with the impossible changes to her body. 

Her eyes darted down to the books that had fallen to the floor. Political science?

The title of the first book stared back at her, mocking her. Political Science 101: Foundations of Democracy.

Her pulse hitched, and she froze.

What the hell? She had never applied for political science. She hadn’t even considered it. Her entire life had been built around engineering, physics and, tech—the things that connected her to the Autobots, to the world she once understood. She remembered her applications to Stanford—engineering, physics, and technology. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t the future she had built.

Political science? It didn’t make any sense. It felt like someone had placed these books here, into her life, without her even knowing it.

Her mind reeled, but her hands moved almost of their own accord, trembling as she picked up the top book. She opened it, the crisp pages crackling as they unfolded. A stack of photos fell out, fluttering to the floor with a soft thud. Sam blinked, mouth dry, and then the world seemed to halt for a moment.

Trent.

Her fingers shook as she reached for the photos. It felt like a nightmare, the colours of the photos shifting in her mind. It couldn’t be. Trent? She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus. There he was, smiling at her, his arm around her shoulders, the two of them laughing together at graduation. The same Trent who had tormented her for years—mocked her, bullied her, made her life miserable in high school.

No. No, no, this wasn’t right.

Her head spun, her stomach twisting into tight knots as she stared at the photos in disbelief. 

No, no, this had to be a mistake. She’d never had a friendship with him, let alone this kind of friendship. But there they were—photos of her and Trent together, at graduation, smiling, hugging. Sam’s stomach churned.

She bent down to grab the photos, heart pounding as she stared at them in disbelief. No, this wasn’t right. She didn’t hug Trent. Trent had been a bully. He had tormented her for years, so why the hell would she even consider being friends with him, let alone act like they were... close?

Her hands were trembling as she grabbed the photos, pulling them up to her face as if to confirm their existence.

This isn’t real. Her mind screamed it, but her eyes couldn’t deny the evidence in front of her. These photos—these fake moments—were now part of her reality.

She bent down, hands shaking, heart racing, and grabbed the other photos scattered across the floor. There they were—more pictures of her smiling with Trent. At a graduation party, at a beach house, or even at some generic school event. And all around her were faces she didn’t recognize. Jocks. Cheerleaders. Track stars. People who hadn’t been in her life. People she had seen in high school but never interacted with.

Track stars? Sam’s breath caught in her throat as a cold sweat broke out across her skin. She hadn’t taken track. She never would have. Her parents had always worried about her health because she had been born prematurely. Running, sports—anything that put too much strain on her body—they had always warned her against it. 

So why was she looking at photos of herself surrounded by people from the track? Why were these memories suddenly so vivid, so real?

Sam’s gaze drifted through the stack of pictures, her eyes wild as she searched for more in the other books.

There was nothing of Mikaela here—no photos of the two of them together in Mikaela’s garage, working on cars. No pictures of them from their camping trips, laughing around the campfire or dancing to some offbeat tune. No blurry pictures her mom had taken at sleepovers—those small, cherished moments that had meant everything to her.

They were all gone. Erased.

Instead, the stack of pictures was filled with the smiling faces of strangers, faces of people who didn’t belong. The memories were wrong. All of them were wrong. And her head felt like it might explode, the weight of the lies pressing down on her chest.

What was happening to her?

Her legs felt weak, and she staggered back toward the bed, her hands pressing against the soft sheets for support. The fabric beneath her fingers was too real, too right, in a world that had gone completely wrong. She could feel the pulse still running under her skin—like the faint thrum of the Matrix, or the power of the Allspark, something that wasn’t quite in her control but was still there, tethering her to something larger than herself. Something beyond this twisted version of reality.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her mind spinning in chaotic circles.

This wasn’t her life. She couldn’t breathe in this world, couldn’t make sense of anything. The room, the people, the memories—it was all wrong. The emptiness she had felt in the dark void was now replaced by a crushing sense of alienation, of disconnection. She didn’t belong here.

She couldn’t stay in this warped reality.

But how could she get back? Back to where everything made sense, back to where the Autobots were, where her life was? The questions pummeled her, but they were as intangible as the shifting shadows around her. 

Where was the world she was supposed to be in? Where were the people she knew, the friends, the family? The Autobots? They were gone now—had she lost them forever?

Everything she had ever known had been ripped away, and Sam was left standing in a reality that wasn’t hers, a life that wasn’t hers. She didn’t belong here.

And as that thought sank into her bones, she felt the weight of it, the hollow emptiness that stretched out before her. She had no idea how to fix this.