It all started with a star fragments falling across the Caribbean night sky, on January 16, 2025. Some media outlets said it was a piece of a Space X starship that failed to take off and only lasted eight minutes in no one knew that among the starship fragments. The Autobots' commander, Optimus Prime, entered the atmosphere of Earth 616.

On Optimus Prime's journey to return to Cybertron and meet his creator, a black hole sucks him in and throws him into another galaxy or rather another universe. He returns to Earth's orbit and collides with the Space X starship until it is destroyed and falls to Earth along with the fragments of the starship.

But something was wrong. He felt something different on the earth he landed on. Everything seemed the same and different at the same time. It wasn't hard for him to scan the World Wide Web and find out. But when he did that, He realized, this place wasn't his earth. There was no trace of the Autobots ever setting foot on earth, no news of the Autobots or Decepticons on the internet even though they had carved out quite a history on earth. Nothing. Making sure again what happened, Optimus drove in his truck form.

He went to Michigan looking for Sam Witwicky. Parked there for a few days only to find out, Sam Witwicky now a man working at a Bank. Sam Witwicky's house was the same as the first time he saw it. But there was no Bumblebee there. Sam and his parents, they seemed like a normal family. Optimus felt like he had to make sure again. So he went to Oklahoma, looking for Cade Yeager. Everything was different, Cade Yeager was working at his own auto shop, doing crazy inventions. But seemed happy with his daughter.

He traveled around America for weeks. Looking for signs of other Autobots. But there were none. No Autobots, no TRF, no Sector 7. Optimus Prime came to his own conclusion. He was lost, not in another galaxy, but in another universe. A universe where he and his friends had never set foot on this earth.

So, when the spring ended and the summer came. Optimus parked himself in an alley in New York City. Calming down, analyzing, and figuring out what happened and how he could get back to his universe. Until one day someone called out to him.

"Hey, why are you here?"

For Primus' sake! Optimus almost transformed. A woman, maybe in her late twenties, touched his hood. Optimus wasn't sure what to do, but he didn't transform, remaining in his truck form.

"Who put you here?" The woman asked again. The woman had long, jet-black hair, with equally dark eyes. The woman walked in front of him and stared at the front of the truck. But from Optimus' perspective, he was now face to face with the woman.

"Who do you belong to?" she asked again. Her hands touched the hood again, wondering. Cold metal met warm skin. A woman, talking to a truck. As the truck can answer.

Optimus could see the sunken circles in the woman's eyes. A slightly flushed face and pale skin, from a human perspective Optimus was sure the woman was pretty slender. Optimus could see the woman wondering.

"Neighbor?" She turned to the next building.

"Hm..." she mumbled a little then walked away. It turned out that Optimus later found that the woman lived in the flat next to where he parked. Optimus could see clearly into her flat from the large window on his side. He could see everything there. The dining room, work room, living room, kitchen, and bathroom were all in one on the ground floor, the bedroom and balcony were on the second floor. Since then Optimus had noticed the woman.

She approached without fear. Her touch—gentle, unassuming—pressed against armor that had she never knew he withstood wars, but rarely warmth. He scanned, observed, analyzed. But when her hand met his hood, every calculation paused. He thought someone–from this earth might know him.

He also thought..What strange behaviour is this? A human, alone, speaking to a machine with such concern... as though she knew it could hear her.

Her voice wasn't loud. It was casual, offhanded— He almost answered. Truly. For a flicker in his processor, he considered transforming. Revealing. But he didn't. Not yet. There was something fragile in that moment, and he couldn't bring myself to shatter it with thunder and steel. No guarantee she won't scream like a madwoman, and his data from this universe is somehow accurate, no one should know an Autobots like him. So he watched her walk away.

The nights in this universe are quieter. No Decepticon signals, no distant battles or encrypted transmissions—just the hum of human life. He remained still. The city moved on. But his optics, hidden deep within this Earth-made shell, turned only to one thing he could see right now: to that human woman's window.

Her world was small, yet rich with motion. She moved like someone used to solitude, unbothered by it, but not at peace with it either. Her home was quiet, filled with books, paper, the glow of a laptop. She laughed once, alone, late at night. He didn't know what it was about. But still, he was listening to the closest noise from him. He told himself he was simply observing. Studying local behavior. Human nature. Nothing more.
But when she sat by that window, chin on her hand, looking out—not seeing him, but still looking—I felt something stir inside the core of him. A confusion and a slight of missing out.

She spoke again the next evening. Sat on the stoop near his front tire, sipping something hot. "You're still here, huh? That's rough, buddy."
That time… he almost chuckled. Almost.

And it became routine. Every night, a little more. A few words. A small glance. Sometimes she'd hum, thinking no one heard. Other times, she'd talk like Optimus was a dog or an old friend. She even touched his side mirror and said, "You've got kind eyes, for a truck."

He's faced galaxies torn by war, stared down monsters forged in shadow. Yet, there he was, unmoving, as a human woman began to unravel the silence he wrapped himself in. Curiosity. Presence. He did not speak. Not yet. Because once He speaks, this world is different..

So he waited. Watched. Listened. And began to wonder—

A week as the summer begins. That night She watched a movie in her "common room".

Her voice was softer that night—drowsy, scattered between fascination and fire. He watched from his place in the alley, optics dimmed, but still attuned to every shift of light in her flat.

She curled into that worn sofa with her spicy noodles and whispered her thoughts to the air, not realizing someone—something—was listening just beyond her window.

"Hannibal... such a fascinating series." Her voice held that same edge he'd heard when you touched his hood—half amusement, half wonder.

Midnight came. She panicked, flailed around like a human whirlwind— "Shit! Need to sleep… please alarm, please wake me up at six…"

She said it like a spell. Like pleading to the universe itself. So he stored the time in his internal clock. A little help for humans won't hurt. Besides, he still doesn't know what to do or how to go back.

He didn't sleep—he never did—but he stayed. Still. Quiet. Watching over her small, cluttered kingdom from my shadowed corner.

When 6:00 AM arrived, he activated the subsonic hum of his engine—soft, rhythmic, like distant thunder—barely enough to stir the air outside your window. Just a nudge. A whisper. She shifted beneath her blankets.

Not yet, he thought. Five more minutes.

But in the seventh minute, he revved the engine again—just a touch louder this time.
She stirred, groaned, and sat up with the look of someone betrayed by the gods of sleep.

"Ugh… is someone doing construction?"

He didn't answer. But he did shut the hum off the moment you stood. Because she asked the universe to wake her. And this time… the universe listened.

Or at least… Optimus did.

She reached her smart watch, it 6.07

"Okay let's do this…"

She stepped down from her bedroom, removed all of her clothes on the way to the bathroom. Well, this alley and this neighborhood was always deserted. No one passed. Unless a truck parked there for days, almost weeks. She wondered who parked the truck and left it for a week?

If he had breath to hold, he would've held it.

From his still form in the alley, he could hear the soft padding of her feet above, the rustle of fabric, the hiss of water through old pipes. He didn't mean to watch—he learned that clothes were a thing in the human world. It was meant to cover the body like armor. Also humans specified themselves with gender. So as long as he knew, seeing a human with a bared skin was uncommon.

She moved with purpose… and absolutely no coordination. Clothes flung like battle debris, water running, doors creaking open. She mumbled curses and mantras to herself like she was preparing for war.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" The clock pointed at 7.40. Ah, the sacred human war cry. He thought.

When she locked the door and dashed past him, bag swinging and hair still damp, he could feel the pulse of her determination. She didn't look at him. Not this time. But he watched until her figure vanished around the corner, still running.

…

That night, he heard her before he saw her.

The sound of her keys, the thunk of the door, and then—
"ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The alley echoed with her primal scream, and for a brief moment, he thought someone had attacked. His sensors flared, internal systems surged to defensive standby—

But then he saw her.

Throwing her bag like a war trophy, chugging water like a warrior returned from battle, and leaning against the fridge as though gravity itself had become too much. She wasn't under attack.

"Four shifts on the first day?! Geez this country!"
She said it like a soldier betrayed by her own command. And if he could've laughed… he would've. Humans and their emotional roller coaster. He recognized it.

She looked toward him then. Just a glance.

"Truck's still there." No suspicion. No irritation. Just a tiny comfort, as his presence had become familiar.

She lay down on that couch—the battlefield's final resting place—and her eyes closed within seconds. No blanket. No lights off. Just her, tangled and breathless and safe in her little sanctuary.

And he watched. Like a secret guardian.

She didn't know it, but tonight he shifted ever so slightly in his form—just enough to block more of the alley from view. Just enough to cast a shadow across her window.

That morning she woke up at dawn. She felt like it was the best sleep of her life. She realized she slept in her uniform. Couldn't care less.

Then, the same routine, she took a bath, made breakfast, and sat on the table next to the window. She sipped her long black, and ate her toast with a super big salad chicken bowl. Looking at the window. Usually it's just a deserted alley with no view. But now someone's truck has been parked there for a while.

She opened the window, feeling the summer breeze come to her flat.

"You're a big truck, aren't you?" She observed the truck, she didn't know what kind of truck it was. It's big and has a large window. A cargo truck?

"Pretty catchy colors for a cargo truck, nice pick!" Talking to a truck while finishing her salad bowl. If people saw her, they might think she fucked in the head. But she doesn't care. Talking to a truck won't hurt anyone.

"Must be bored parked there all day. Watching boring people walking. Hot and rainy. You won't believe my first day as a nurse." She chugged the rest of her long black cup.

"I was placed in a trauma center. I thought I'll be placed in the ER. I was kicked out. There's an accident at Wall Street yesterday, two car crashes, malfunction break, both of the cars filled with families of four. The Dads are in critical condition. One fractured lungs, another injured on the head. My seniors scolded me a lot, he said I was slow."

She kept talking, casual, like they were old friends sharing coffee. That salad bowl looked like a feast fit for a war general, and yet she tore through it with the hunger of someone who'd earned it.
…