And so, the convoy began to move—with Rosie at its heart, destiny crackling quietly in the strange little box at her side.
They arrived at Nasa Base, but Rosie deliberately chose a place a little further and quieter for the Autobots to park.
"I'll bring Agatha here. It's a NASA base, one wrong move it'll be a mess. I'll go with Mirage. His colors quite blend with the other vehicles. You guys Cybertronians really-really have noticeable color. No offense..."
Mirage flicked his spoiler playfully, clearly enjoying the compliment-disguised-as-a-jab.
"None taken, doll. You know I make blending in look good." He revved lightly, the engine purring like a smug cat. "Let's roll, partner in cosmic crime."
Optimus, ever the sentinel, gave a small nod—stern, but trusting.
"Keep your comms open, Murage. If anything feels off, signal us. We'll be listening, and we'll come." His optics lingered on her just a moment longer than necessary. "We always come."
Bee chirped in agreement, and Ratchet added with his usual dry tone:
"Don't do anything reckless. And by reckless, I mean anything Mirage encourages."
"Hey!" Mirage's voice flared indignantly as Rosie climbed into him. "I'll have you know I'm the definition of strategic charm."
And just like that, Mirage peeled out with Rosie inside, blending into the convoy of mundane Earth vehicles near the NASA base—leaving behind three war-forged titans, waiting in silent vigilance.
Their course was set. Now all they needed... was Agatha.
She parked Mirage at the parking lot. Good thing is that NASA also takes visitors on a daily basis.
"Stay still Mirage. Be good. I'll be back."
"You got it, gorgeous," Mirage purred, reclining his seat slightly like he was getting ready for a midday nap. "I'll be as still as a statue. A really, really handsome one."
Then, with a wink through the dashboard display:
"But if anything goes sideways, I'm one rev away. Knock 'em dead, Rosie."
Inside, the weight of her mission pressed just beneath her ribs. The base was calm, secure, but she knew better now. Danger didn't always arrive with thunder—it sometimes waited in quiet rooms behind polished doors.
All she had to do now was find Agatha Cartwright… and open a new chapter in this unraveling, cosmic war.
She came to the receptionist with a smile.
"Good morning, can I help you?" Asked the receptionist.
"Hi, can you tell her if uh...Rosamund Den Riehm is waiting for her." She said,
"Um, sure."
Then the receptionist made a phone call. Rosie waited at the lounge until a woman came. A woman with her suit and heels, wearing glasses, looks a little nerdy, but quite gorgeous. They meet the eyes.
Called it woman's instinct, but it looks like they understand each other well even though they're just met.
"Don't tell me now, it's happening now..." she sulked.
"I know...believe me I feel the same..." Rosie even sulks, but they're on the same boat.
Agatha and Rosie, two descendants of Witwiccans order. Stepped out from the building, with a coffee, and they're already getting along. Talking about they're family tragedy and stuff like that was a light topic.
Mirage can see them approaching, and definitely can hear them. A bit strange about their topics of conversation in the middle of this galactic invasion crisis.
"...yeah my father died, and I just know there is a bunker under my house." Rosie said. Sipping coffee.
"Relate girl. My house is always full of this observation computer and machine. I wanna be a presenter, but I couldn't help it. I'm kinda good at math so..."
They get into Mirage. Still talking.
"And this NASA thing, they hate when women are in charge." Agtha said.
"I know, I've been thrown to the trauma centre from the ER..." Rosie replied.
"Geez, woman in a man's world. So damn hard..."
Mirage's engine purred to life as the doors closed behind them.
"Okay, not gonna lie," he said, amusement thick in his voice, "I was expecting covert codewords and high-stakes intel. Instead, I'm getting girlboss energy and generational trauma. Honestly? Kinda refreshing."
He pulled gently out of the lot, his tone softening.
"But it's good. You two click. That's rare, y'know? Especially when the world's about to crack open."
Then, with a teasing lilt:
"Also… NASA's gonna freak out when they find out two of their best women are now teamed up with a five-ton alien sports car who talks too much. What a plot twist."
He eased into the road, keeping it smooth, discreet while the weight of destiny, buried history, and orbital consequences trailed behind in his rearview.
"You sure you're ready for what comes next, Rosie?"
"Yeah.." Rosie said. Mirage started to drive.
"Oh is this?" Agatha has a different reaction than Rosie the first time seeing Autobots. She seems excited.
"Yes, Mirage met Agatha, Agatha this is Mirage." Rosie said.
"Ugh Porsche, nice pick!" Agatha chuckled.
Mirage revved a little, clearly flattered.
"Finally! Someone with taste!" he said with a grin in his voice. "Most people either scream or threaten to call the government. You? You compliment my curves. I like you already, Agatha."
He tilted his mirrors ever so slightly like he was adjusting a collar.
"And yeah, Porsche 911 Carrera RS 3.8—vintage, fast, and full of charm. Much like myself."
Rosie could practically feel his smirk through the dashboard.
"Still," Mirage added playfully, "I gotta say, Rosie handled her freak-out like a champ too. Eventually. After the nosebleed. And the noodle incident."
He chuckled, glancing at her through his rearview, teasing but warm.
"You two are gonna be trouble together. I can feel it. Should I be worried?"
They arrived in the nearby park. Closed by trees so no one can see them. When Rosie and Agatha stepped down from Mirage they could see three other vehicles still parked there, and they both still seemed to drown in their conversations real fun.
"Twice, I vomited. First after these three Mirage, Ratchet, and Bee came as meteorites and Optimus threw me from his seats, and after I have this intergalactic-universe-time machine possessed." Rosie seems still to have trauma about vomiting.
"Oh poor girl." Agatha sympathized.
As soon as Rosie and Agatha got close enough, the three parked vehicles responded subtly—Optimus shifted slightly, just enough for his emblem to catch the sunlight like a nod of greeting. Bee gave a short, cheerful beep, and Ratchet grumbled something like "Finally."
But none transformed. They knew the drill.
Optimus's voice came low and calm, not through speakers, but directly to her comm-link—gentle, respectful.
"You held your own, Rosamund. I'm proud of your strength. And... I apologize again for that throw."
Bee chimed in right after with a series of playful audio clips—first, dramatic fainting, then the sound of sloshing noodles.
"Bee," Ratchet groaned. "She just got over the trauma. Don't re-trigger it."
Agatha leaned close to Rosie, nudging her with her elbow.
"So… which one's Optimus? He's got 'commanding presence' written all over his paint job."
Rosie didn't have to answer. Optimus rolled slightly forward, sunlight gleaming off his chrome, his voice following suit:
"Welcome, Agatha Cartwright. I've heard of your service to the Witwiccan legacy. It's an honor to meet you."
Agatha blinked, then smiled. "Oh my God, he's polite. And huge. And hot—in a deeply mechanical, world-saving kind of way."
Rosie covered her face with one hand. "Agatha…"
"What?" Agatha whispered, "If I'm gonna be pulled into a war, at least let me enjoy the view."
Rosie can't help but smirk that she forgot for a few days what it feels like.
"That's alright you can transform. Agatha has been observing outer space, let her see what outer space beings looked like." Rosie said.
With a quiet rumble that vibrated the air around them, Optimus Prime transformed first—his parts shifting with smooth precision, every piece sliding into place with noble weight. As he rose to full height, the trees around him swayed gently from the movement. He stood tall, blue optics glowing with that unmistakable calm authority.
Bee followed next, his transformation playful and fluid, adding a little flourish at the end as if saying, ta-da. Ratchet grumbled something under his breath as he converted in a more utilitarian fashion, arms folding out like mechanical elbows cracking.
Mirage saved his transformation for last—of course he did—with a theatrical spin of his wheel and a wink of his LED optics as his sleek form locked into place beside Rosie.
Agatha just stood there, jaw slightly parted, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose.
"Oh. Oh wow. That's—okay, okay this is way cooler than black holes," she muttered.
Rosie crossed her arms, grinning now. "Outer space looks better than it feels, huh?"
Agatha blinked at Optimus. "You… you're seriously real. Like, not CGI. I'm talking to a seven-meter robot from another planet."
Optimus inclined his head gently. "We are real, Agatha Cartwright. And we're here because this world—your world—matters."
Bee played a clip from The Martian: "Bring him home." Then followed it up with a little jazz riff.
Agatha gave a breathless laugh. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... yeah. I think I'm in."
Rosie elbowed her again. "Oh no, honey. You're already way in."
"No chance actually, this is the end game." Rosie said.