Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kel sighed as another notification popped up — one of the servers was down again. Great. With the Kerfur bot stuck spitting out hashcodes, he’d have to fix it manually. Again.

“God dammit, why won’t you—” Kel growled as he tapped away at the panel for the third time. Then, finally, the green light blinked to life. “Ha! Gotcha,” he whooped, tossing his beanie onto the desk before running a hand through his hair and yanking it back on. He collapsed into his rolling chair with a tired huff.

He glanced over at the stack of drives and got to work. Dr. Bao wanted signals. So Kel would give him signals. “Here we go…” he muttered under his breath — more to himself than to the tiny Keljoy plushie perched on the corner of the desk.

Time ticked by, each signal loading slower than the last. The first three were nothing special. Static-ridden, standard interstellar drift — typical. Still better than the day he’d gotten that cursed signal from that “retro” planet. He shoved the memory aside and queued the fourth signal.

That’s when something strange flickered onto the screen.

“…What is—what?” Kel stood slowly, squinting at the glowing interface. A ship? No, that couldn’t be right. It looked orange — maybe dandelion-colored — and the signature was clearly coming from it. But it wasn’t like any satellite or rover.

Before he could investigate further, the signal room door creaked open, and Kerfur rolled in, wheezing low on power.

Kel groaned. “Of course.”

He trudged over, pulled the rechargeable battery from the bot’s chassis, and plugged it into the wall socket. When he returned to the terminal, the computer had finished processing the signal. It was a ship.

A moving ship.

Kel blinked hard, trying to shake the disbelief. He downloaded the file to the drive, trying to reason with himself. Probably a weird satellite. Maybe a probe no one logged. Sure. That made sense. Kind of.

Too tired to wrestle with it further, Kel gathered the drives and placed them in a secure case alongside the hashcodes. He summoned the drone pickup, but halfway back to the observatory he cursed aloud.

“Forgot the damn report.”

With another sigh, Kel climbed the stairs to the upper level of the Alpen Signal Observatory. He swung open the fridge, grabbed some half-frozen shrimp, and tossed it in the microwave. It wasn’t glamorous, but at least it wasn’t spoiled — unlike the pizza in the corner, which was currently being demolished by a mouse.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he forked limp shrimp into his mouth and stared at the ceiling. That ship still lingered in his mind. Odd shape. Odd color. And not from anything human.

He closed his eyes. He’d deal with it in the morning.

The observatory sirens wailed like banshees, ripping Kel from his sleep with the force of a heart attack.

He bolted upright, grabbing his beanie and jamming it on his head, hoodie thrown over as he stumbled into the hallway. The floor shook. The entire base groaned like it had been slapped by God.

A meteor?

No. Something else.

His first thought, after sheer panic, was equipment. He had to make sure nothing got damaged. He shoved Kerfur’s battery back into place, gave the rolling cat-bot a pat, and sent it off to retrieve server data. Then he sprinted to the garage.

Throwing the door open, Kel jumped on the four-wheeler and peeled out toward the smoke. Trees blurred past. A few were on fire.

“Great. Fantastic.”

He didn’t notice the cliff until the world dropped out from under him.

The ATV went flying. Kel screamed, arms flailing, gravity dragging him down fast. This was it. From astronomy grad to recluse to roadkill.

He braced for impact.

But the impact never came.

Instead, a violent jerk tore through his chest as something caught him — by the hoodie. Air slammed from his lungs as he dangled midair. He blinked, gasping.

And then he saw it.

Red. Blue. Chrome. Massive. Like a knight in high-tech armor.

“What the hell?!” Kel shouted, legs kicking. The robot held him in the air like a kitten, completely unbothered. He blinked rapidly, brain refusing to comprehend what was happening.

The giant moved — not like a machine, not like a puppet. Fluid. Aware. It was… gesturing. Trying to communicate?

Kel stared, wide-eyed and breathless. His ears rang from whatever sound it made — guttural, modulated, almost language. The robot crouched slightly and gently lowered him to the ground.

He stumbled back. Legs intact. No blood. Still breathing.

“Ena’s gonna wish she saw this…” he muttered, barely louder than a breath. The robot tilted its head. It had heard him.

They stared at each other in a silence that felt louder than the sirens.

Neither knew what the other was saying.

But it didn’t matter.

This wasn’t just a glitch in the system. This was contact. First contact. And Kel knew, without a doubt, he was going to need a lot more coffee.

Chapter Text

Ever since the massive ship and its equally massive passengers crash-landed near the observatory, Kel’s feelings about the situation had been… mixed.

His report to Dr. Bao had sparked an unusually strong reaction from the typically stoic man. In addition to the usual hashcodes and signal logs, Bao demanded photos, videos—anything Kel could capture. That alone told Kel just how serious this all was.

Now, days later, Kel stood outside the Alpen Signal Observatory, overlooking the forest that had once been ablaze. The fires were gone, and—thankfully—his equipment had survived untouched. He let out a long sigh. Everything had been chaotic that day. He’d nearly died, saved at the last second by a giant robot. The fires had been extinguished by more of them. And now?

Now the robots were watching him from the forest edge.

Kel had noticed them hovering behind the tree line—never interfering directly, but not hiding either. They knew what he was doing. He could tell. Sometimes, they even helped. One had realigned a bent satellite dish after a storm. Another had helped get Kerfur, his rolling cat-bot assistant, unstuck from a rock. It was eerie, but... helpful.

Fishing through his coat pocket, Kel found what he was looking for: a box of cigarettes and a small lighter—bought with those strange, almost gamified “company points” his employer awarded him for surviving another week.

He hadn’t smoked in college. Not once. But now? Now he needed something to soothe the nerves. The quiet was heavy. The isolation deeper. Even Kerfur couldn't replace real conversation. Not like Ena used to.

He lit the cigarette, shielding it from the wind with his hand. The smoke was acrid, staining the air with its chemical sting. It’d ruin his jacket, he knew, but he didn’t care. Not after what he’d seen. Not after what he’d survived.

As he took another drag, Kel heard it—that alien language again. A string of mechanical tones and syllables he still couldn’t make sense of. Looking over the balcony railing, he spotted another one of the robots standing below. It wasn’t the one who had saved him, but a different one—white and red, with an odd, handheld device.

A medic? Kel squinted.

“What do you want?” he muttered, voice hoarse. He wasn’t expecting an answer, and he didn’t get one. Instead, the robot made a simple gesture—one that Kel instinctively recognized: drop it.

It took him a second. He blinked, confused, smoke trailing from his lips. The gesture again, firmer this time.

Kel narrowed his eyes, then tossed the half-finished cigarette down into the parking lot. The robot stepped forward and crushed it underfoot, dousing it with a crunch. But it didn’t leave. It just stood there, staring at him.

“Seriously?” Kel muttered, more to himself than anything. It felt like being scolded by a massive, hovering mechanical nurse. He let out an annoyed exhale and turned back inside, shutting the door behind him.

Back in his room, he tossed the cigarette box and lighter onto the counter with a clatter. The weight of sleepless nights hit him all at once, exhaustion crawling up from his bones. He dropped onto his twin-sized mattress, fitted awkwardly into a rusting bunk bed frame, and let sleep take him.

Outside, Ratchet remained still, watching through the balcony glass.

The human was clearly exhausted—and stubborn. A poor combination for someone living alone in a facility like this. Ratchet’s scanners had flagged multiple concerns: fatigue, elevated stress levels, and now this bizarre oral combustion habit.

He let out a low vent of air, the Cybertronian equivalent of a sigh.

This one was going to be a terrible patient, he could already tell. Maybe... maybe there was a way to use that strange, clunky cat-bot of his. With a few modifications, it could at least monitor his vitals more consistently.

Ratchet’s gaze shifted toward the satellite array. Primitive. Fragile.

He’d have to make sure Wheeljack didn’t get curious and start tampering with it.

Chapter Text

Every day felt a little more unsettling now—at least, to Kel it did. Glowing blue optics peered at him from the treeline. Kerfur, his rolling cat-bot, kept returning with strange upgrades. And lately, his signal processing speeds had inexplicably improved.

What were these robots?

Were they trying to prove they were friendly? Kel couldn’t tell. Not with the occasional signals getting blocked by their tech—tech that warped space around it, silencing transmissions before he could even parse them. He was just trying to do his job, and they were interfering. But why?

He knew there were dangers in space. He’d processed signals from exoplanets, black holes, and dead stars. But this—this felt different. Were they trying to protect him from something? Someone?

Or was he being studied?

Kel’s thoughts scattered as a chime rang out—a new email. He blinked, half expecting it to be from Ena or Dr. Bao. But he’d already received their morning updates.

No.

This one was different.

He opened it, only to be met with a string of text that defied understanding. The language kept shifting—morphing like static in real time. It looked like a living code, not meant for human eyes.

He stared.

Was it from them? The robots?

A first attempt at contact, maybe—scrambling through Earth's languages, trying to piece together a bridge?

Despite himself, Kel responded.

'Who are you?'

No reply.

Nothing.

Silence—

Until another chime.

Another email. More shifting glyphs. It was maddening and mesmerizing. Kel loved space. That was why he was here. That was why he’d taken this job after graduating. That’s why Ena had pushed him so hard to take the post.

But right now?

Right now, space was just frustrating.

He couldn't ask the towering mech that had saved his life for its name. Couldn't ask the red-and-white one—who might’ve been a medic—why it had gestured for him to put out his cigarette.

Did they even understand what he was?

Kel exhaled, forwarding the emails to Dr. Bao. Maybe Bao could make sense of it. Maybe not.

Turning back to his monitors, he noticed one of his newest signals had finally processed.

His eyes widened.

Arrow-shaped ships. Two of them.

He slid on his headset, heart thudding.

“Hello... We. Come. In. Peace.”

The words rang in his ears, stilted and broken, but unmistakable. Another race?

His hands trembled.

Was this fear? Or excitement? He couldn’t tell. Quickly, he downloaded the message to the third drive of the day.

Now it was just a matter of waiting for Kerfur to return with the hashcodes.

Removing his headset, Kel grabbed his notebook, pen scratching across the page as he began his daily report. His foot tapped uncontrollably. Was he smiling? Frowning? He wasn’t sure what his face was doing anymore.

Just as he finished the report, Kerfur rolled into the room. Kel took the hashcodes, organized the drives, and headed toward the garage to prep for drone dispatch.

The box was sealed. He was ready to hail the drone.

But just as he reached for the button—he stopped.

Something outside caught his eye.

A figure. One of them.

It stood at the edge of the clearing, just beyond the observatory’s line of sight—watching him.

Unmoving.

Unsettling.

And then, it was gone—disappearing into the trees the moment it realized Kel had seen it.

He caught only a glimpse: red, blue, black, and white armor. Not the one that had saved him. This one was smaller. Sharper in silhouette.

Was it studying him?

Why?

The drone arrived minutes later, buzzing into the loading dock to retrieve the box. Kel handed it over without a word.

He should’ve felt relieved. Another day’s work done.

Instead, a new anxiety curled around his ribs.

Eyes—blue, gold, red—always watching from the treeline. Enough to drive anyone mad.

But Kel reminded himself: he had a job. A contract. A payout waiting at the end.

Just seven more months of isolation.

Seven.

He scribbled a note in his logbook:

'Buy more coffee. More cigarettes.'

The bare minimum to survive.

Chapter Text

Kel sighed as he looked at Dr. Bao's latest email. He hadn’t opened it yet. The subject line referenced the two emails Kel had forwarded earlier.

So why did he feel so anxious?

Was it the fact that these robots could crush him in an instant? Was it the way they constantly watched him? Or was it their expressions... their gestures... so emotive, so human?

It was uncanny.

With a frustrated slam of his hand against the desk, Kel finally opened the email.

What he read made his blood run cold.

Should it be terrifying?

Dr. Bao had managed to decipher the messages. They were meant to be peaceful. A simple greeting. An explanation.

These beings called themselves Cybertronians, from a mechanical world called Cybertron. There were factions. The ones near him called themselves Autobots. They claimed to mean no harm.

But Kel couldn’t stop the fear from creeping in. Factions meant war, didn’t it? If the Autobots were here... what about the others? What if the others came to Earth? What if they hurt people—hurt Kel, hurt Max, hurt Ena?

He didn’t even realize he was crying until he heard his own tears hit the metal floor.

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. The fabric was coarse and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. It irritated his skin.

He hated it.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, Kel stepped away from his desk. Just for a moment. Just to breathe.

Out on the balcony of the observatory, he lit another cigarette. The smoke stung his eyes and nose, but the nicotine brought a strange, steady calm. Watching the cigarette burn to ash gave him something to focus on. Something small. Something he could control.

It would kill him someday. Sure. Cancer would take him eventually if the isolation didn’t first.

But stopping was hard. Especially when he was so alone.

Only him. Kerfur. And now these silent, watching machines.

Tears welled again, unbidden.

Why was he crying now? Was it finally breaking him, the solitude?

He remembered when he first arrived at the observatory. The old notes left behind—written in English, German, even Latin. All scribbled by past technicians. All laced with fear and melancholy.

It had been too much for them, too.

The cigarette slipped from Kel’s fingers and hit the concrete.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing. The smoke still lingered. His chest ached. His head spun. He could disappear from this place, and the company probably wouldn’t even care. They’d just send someone else.

Curse another person with this same loneliness.

He buried his face in his hands, a choked sob escaping.

Was he truly alone?

A warring robotic species was on his doorstep, and he couldn’t even ask them questions. Couldn’t ask the one who saved him what its name was. Couldn’t ask why that medic-like one had taken issue with his cigarette. Couldn’t ask anything.

He cried. Not loud, not quiet. Just tears, steady and unrelenting. A few broken sounds between.

He didn’t hear the metal giant’s approach.

He only looked up when something heavy was placed down on the drone landing pad.

His ATV.

The one he thought had been destroyed.

He looked up—and there stood his savior.

The robot—no, Cybertronian—looked down at him. Its presence didn’t feel threatening. If anything... it felt empathetic. Or was Kel imagining that?

Could these beings feel?

So many questions welled up in his chest: Why are you here? Why are you watching me? Why bring your war to this planet?

Kel wanted to thank it. He also wanted to scream at it. Instead, he just broke again, sinking to his knees.

His savior didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, the Cybertronian knelt—bringing its massive form closer to Kel's level. Even kneeling, it was huge, but there was something reverent about the motion. A quiet humility.

One massive hand pressed flat to the ground, palm open, fingers slightly curled. Not reaching. Just still.

A gesture of non-aggression.

A gesture of respect.

Optimus Prime had experienced countless first contacts—some peaceful, many not. This was different. There were no governments here. No treaties. Just a young human, isolated, afraid, and breaking under the strain of the unknown.

He didn’t speak. Words would mean nothing.

So instead, he held Kel’s gaze.

Let the silence work where language could not.

Kel cried beneath the Cybertronian’s quiet vigil. This being—this savior—could have crushed him like nothing. But it hadn’t. It had given him something else entirely.

Comfort.

For once, the silence didn’t drown him.
For once... the silence was merciful.

He had work to do, data to send, hashcodes to collect.

But not now.

Now, he just needed to cry.

Chapter Text

It took a day for Dr. Bao to send over the program he used to decipher the language the Cybertronians were using to contact Kel.

The emails Kel received weren’t simple. The program wasn’t perfect. Most of the messages were... questions.

Kel answered them, just as ASO instructed. His responses were straightforward—what he was, what he was doing, who he worked for.

But he couldn’t answer the last question.

Why are you here?

Kel sighed, staring blankly at his computer screen. The daily signals had already been downloaded to their drives. Kerfur was charging in the corner, his soft whirring a constant companion.

Kel pulled his eyes from the screen and glanced outside toward the radio tower. He squinted.

Something looked... off.

He stood up and left his desk, walking through the quiet halls of the observatory and into the garage. The outside world felt smaller now. Smaller, and far more dangerous, with his new neighbors watching from the shadows.

Kel approached the radio tower. He could feel eyes on him—but he ignored it. Gripping the ladder, he began to climb.

Higher and higher.

The wind tugged at his clothes and hair. A part of him hoped his beanie wouldn’t blow off.

At the top, Kel paused and looked around. Everything seemed... normal.

And then, it happened.

One of the arrow-shaped ships appeared in front of him.

Kel had almost forgotten them.

The ship was sleek—white and black, with glowing blue accents. It hovered for a moment, silent and eerie.

Kel stood frozen in place, too stunned to move. He reached forward instinctively, but before he could do anything, the ship vanished—warping away as quickly as it had come.

These weren’t Cybertronians.

They were something else.

Another alien species.

Kel didn't know what to feel. Amazed? Dreadful? Tired?

At this point, he wasn’t sure.

He remembered the message he’d received—the one that promised peace. He could still hear their words echoing in his head.

“I really need to go to sleep,” Kel muttered to himself.

He turned and began to climb back down the tower. The wind had picked up—stronger now, more aggressive.

Kel gripped the ladder tighter, carefully descending step by step.

He took a slow breath. He hadn’t expected the wind to get this bad, but it made sense. The observatory sat in a valley, and valley winds were always unpredictable.

He reached up to secure his beanie before it flew away.

That was a mistake.

His other hand slipped.

And once again, Kel was falling.

He screamed, reaching wildly for the ladder—but it was too late. The rungs slipped past him.

The ground rushed up to meet him.

But like before... the impact never came.

Kel opened his eyes, half-expecting to see red and blue.

But it wasn’t his usual savior.

It was the medic.

The same Cybertronian who had scolded him before.

The white and red mech was holding him with careful precision, grumbling in a language Kel still couldn’t understand. But Kel didn’t care about the words.

His heart raced. His ribs ached. His chest heaved with panicked, shallow breaths.

The Cybertronian adjusted, trying to calm him, but Kel couldn’t calm down.

Everything faded.

The world went dark.

Ratchet groaned softly as he cradled Kel’s unconscious body in his servo.

Slag it, this kid again.

He adjusted his grip and reached for his scanner. Had the human’s ribs fractured during the catch?

Ratchet remembered the emails. Blaster and Prime had read a few aloud. This human wasn’t just a passerby—this place was his home, his workplace.

It didn’t matter that Ratchet barely knew how to care for humans. Right now, Kel needed help.

And that was Ratchet’s job.

He exhaled through his vents.

Maybe it was time to bring Kel to the Ark. Just for a while. Just to make sure he’d be okay.

Blaster could help with the communication. Beachcomber too.

This wasn’t the kind of medic job he’d trained for.

But it was a life.

And Ratchet had never turned his back on one of those.

Chapter Text

Kel found himself at his desk—but it wasn’t his desk.

Everything around him was sterile, colorless. A monochrome box encasing his workstation, the walls and ceiling closing in. His breath hitched.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t leave his seat. Every time he tried, his limbs felt locked in concrete. His eyes twitched from side to side, scanning for escape, but there was none.

This was it. This was hell.

Kel opened his mouth to scream—
But the walls crushed in before he could.

Kel jolted awake, gasping for air. His ribs ached from the sudden movement, his chest tight not just from pain but panic. His heart hammered as his eyes adjusted.

The room was orange—bright, almost painfully so. The smell of oil and metal clung to the air, with an odd undercurrent of something wet and electric. Like metallic vapor hanging in the nostrils.

This wasn’t the observatory.

He sat up slowly, groaning at the dull throb in his ribcage. Lifting his shirt revealed a bloom of dark bruising. His fingers gently pressed the area, testing his breath—no sharp pain, no crackling, no strange whistling in his lungs.

Not broken. Bruised, maybe. But he needed a real doctor.

He shifted on what he now realized was a metal table—or slab, really—and stiffened at the heavy metallic footfalls approaching. They were deep. Rhythmic. Familiar.

One of the Cybertronians. The red and white one?

Kel turned toward the sound. It was the red and white one but he wasn’t alone.

A second bot followed: mostly red with bright yellow panels and large buttons across his chassis. Like… a walking stereo?

Kel opened his mouth to speak, hesitated. He hadn’t expected company—especially not ones that might not understand him.

The moment they saw him awake, both Cybertronians moved closer—quickly, almost urgently. Concern?

“Where… am I?” Kel asked, voice scratchy. He didn’t expect an answer. These beings only understood him through emails, right?

The red and white one glanced to the stereo-bot, who smiled. Kel blinked. Could they smile?

“The Ark.”

The voice came from the yellow and red one. English. Fluent enough to stun Kel.

“You… you speak English?” Kel rubbed the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly through the soreness in his chest. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

The bot almost puffed up with pride.

“Your language is hard to decode, but the music helps.” He grinned wider, clearly proud of that detail.

Kel chuckled. “Yeah, well… music is kind of universal.”

He scratched at his wrist, suddenly self-conscious. “So… uh… what’s your name?”

“Name’s Blaster,” the yellow one replied, motioning to his companion. “And this grump here is Ratchet.”

Kel gave a tired nod. “Blaster and Ratchet…” His voice trailed off. Then—almost to himself—“Then the one I met first must’ve been…”

“The leader of the Autobots,” Blaster supplied, clearly catching the unfinished question. “Optimus Prime.”

Kel blinked. “I… thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, for saving me.”

Silence followed for a beat. Then—

“You think I could get back to the observatory?” Kel asked. “I probably left Kerfur unplugged… and I’ve missed work. A lot of it.”

Blaster looked at Ratchet and spoke something in Cybertronian. Kel watched as Ratchet pinched the bridge of his… nose? Did they have noses?

Ratchet muttered something back, gesturing toward Kel like someone gesturing at a reckless teenager. The tone was clear, even if the language wasn’t.

“Ratchet says you didn’t break anything,” Blaster translated, though he hesitated on the word “break,” as if searching for the right one.

“No broken ribs?” Kel confirmed, to which Blaster nodded. Ratchet still hovered, watching Kel with the same intensity Ena used when he got sick—equal parts annoyed and worried.

The slab was uncomfortable, the lights were bright, and while Kel appreciated not dying, he was ready to leave. The observatory might be isolating, but it was his isolation.

“So…” Kel eased off the table. “Mind taking me back?”

Blaster shrugged and said something to Ratchet, who grumbled but gave a stiff nod.

Being scooped up like a stray kitten by a thirty-foot robot wasn’t something Kel thought he’d ever get used to—even if that robot could carry a conversation.

The sky outside was dark. Night again.

Kel swallowed hard. He must’ve lost at least a full day, maybe two. He was probably going to get fired.

The observatory loomed ahead, cold and familiar. It looked like it always had—like a government punishment built to punish curiosity and bury loneliness under miles of static.

Blaster set him down at the door, waiting until Kel stepped inside before retreating into the dark.

The halls were too big. Too empty. Like walking through the inside of a memory you didn’t want to relive.

Each footstep echoed.

The signal room hissed open, and Kel dropped into his desk chair with a wince. His laptop booted up. Two new emails waited.

One from Dr. Bao.

One from Ena.

Bao’s was short, to the point: the Autobots had briefed him, Kel wasn’t fired—but he was warned. Strongly. The last paragraph was unsettling in its vagueness, worded like Bao knew something Kel didn’t.

Kel rubbed his face, exhaled hard, and clicked to reply to Ena.

For now, it was just a message to say he was alive.

Chapter Text

Kel’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his desk as he stared at the monitor. He couldn’t sleep—not tonight.

Not after everything.

The memory of being on the Ark, of being carried by Blaster, of the alien tech that had surrounded him—it all felt too fresh to ignore.

Cybertronian technology. A species that traveled the stars. Kel couldn’t stop thinking about it. What were their star charts like? What planets had they seen? What was their home like?

Space was fascinating—and frustrating.

But that frustration was part of what drew Kel to it in the first place.

With a quiet sigh, he leaned forward and began scanning for another signal. Sure, he’d already reached his daily quota for Bao, but curiosity always won out. Maybe he’d catch another glimpse of something alien. Maybe even find another race. Or maybe the ones behind that sharp, arrowhead-shaped ship he’d glimpsed before.

The signal came faster than expected. Not loud—but close.

Kel’s eyes narrowed, glued to the screen as the signal was processed. No blinking. No distractions. Waiting.

Then it came through.

A ship—deep, metallic purple—strikingly similar in shape to Cybertronian vessels.

Before he could hit download, the signal was cut.

Blocked.

Kel exhaled sharply through his nose.

Figures.

The Autobots must’ve intercepted it. Again.

But why?

Why keep blocking these signals?

Another faction? Or something more?

Before Kel could spiral into unanswered questions, a soft blip came from the radar system. A ping.

Kel froze. The Autobots had been pinged before… but not in this location.

His thoughts raced.

He stood suddenly, chair scraping back across the floor as he moved. Decision made.

Within minutes, Kel was out the door and in the garage. He mounted his ATV, which roared to life much quicker than it used to. Upgrades, he figured. Probably courtesy of his robotic neighbors.

The ATV handled smoother now, responding to him like it had always belonged in the Alps. He maneuvered through dense forest and slick paths, dodging roots and rocky dips with practiced ease.

Soon, he arrived at his destination: the cave.

He remembered it from when he first arrived at the observatory. The entrance had always been sealed by a rockslide. But now… the rocks were gone. Dislodged. Probably knocked loose during the Ark’s crash.

The headlights from the ATV cast long shadows into the cavern’s mouth as Kel dismounted. He took a cautious step forward.

The cave felt… off.

From inside came a sound—not an echo, not wind. Something deeper. Stranger.

There weren’t supposed to be wild animals this deep in the perimeter. A few birds, rabbits, maybe deer—but this? This was different.

Something about the sound… familiar and utterly alien at once. Like a distant voice trying to reach him from across space and time.

Kel’s instincts screamed at him to turn back.

But he stepped forward instead.

The air was warm at first, thick with moisture. He dug through his pocket, fingers brushing cold metal as he pulled out his flashlight. He clicked it on and stepped past the range of the headlights.

Each footfall echoed unnaturally. The vibrations pulsed through his boots, into his bones. The further in he walked, the colder it got. He zipped up his hoodie and rubbed at his fingertips.

Crunch.

Ice now coated the ground beneath him. Frozen water clung to the cave walls in slick patterns.

He raised his flashlight higher. Slowly. Carefully.

And froze.

Buried in the rock and ice… was a shuttle.

Large. Gleaming. Red, white, and blue metal. A smooth, aerodynamic build unlike anything Earth ever produced.

Kel couldn’t breathe for a second. Then he sucked in a cold breath—too fast—and started coughing, ribs still sore.

Shaking slightly, he climbed onto a small outcrop of rocks. One gloved hand reached out… and touched the shuttle’s hull.

The metal was colder than the air.
But it was real. Right there. Silent. Waiting.

Was this another Cybertronian? Or… something else?

His thoughts spun with possibility, questions rising like static.

But then the cold hit harder. He was shivering.

He stepped back, carefully making his way down from the rocks and toward the cave entrance again. Each rock felt harder to climb than the last. His hands were numb.

But his mind was on fire.

As Kel finally neared the entrance, light poured in—not from his ATV, but from two larger sources.

He squinted, turning off his flashlight as twin beams approached through the dark.

One vehicle transformed before him, metal shifting with familiar rhythm. A tall white-and-red form emerged, arms folding with practiced tension.

Ratchet.

He looked… annoyed.

Kel could practically feel the silent judgment from the medic, who crossed his arms and let out a huff.

Another vehicle pulled up behind him. It transformed with more ease, the form taller and broader.

This one was new. Mostly white and blue. He knelt to get a closer look at Kel, head tilting with a curious expression.

“You look like the mountain tried to keep you,” he said, voice calm, almost musical. “But you made it out anyway.”

The white-and-blue Cybertronian leaned back slightly, giving Kel some space.
“Name’s Beachcomber,” he said, offering what looked like a friendly smile. “I handle scanning, environmental recon, and the occasional philosophical breakdown.”

He tapped his audio receiver lightly. “When we picked up the radar ping, I figured I should tag along. Glad I did.”

Beachcomber’s tone was laid-back, but his optics were sharp—like he was taking in everything about Kel at once: his shivering, the cuts on his hands, the stubborn glint in his eyes.

He placed a servo on the stone wall, listening—really listening—to the sounds coming from within the cave.

“Did you… happen to touch anything inside?” he asked, glancing down at Kel. “The readings shifted for a moment.”

Kel looked at his hand, fingers tingling from the cold metal he’d touched. Ratchet noticed the glance.

“Reckless,” the medic muttered, rubbing the bridge of his—nose? Faceplate? Either way, it was disapproving. “Absolutely fragging reckless.”

Kel blinked. “I, uh…”

Beachcomber turned to Ratchet.

“He’s not reckless,” he said gently. “He’s searching for something—even if he doesn’t know what it is yet.” He gave Kel a small, sincere smile. “I can respect that.”

Kel smiled awkwardly back, unsure what to say. He glanced toward the cave—it was obvious now. Way too small for either of them to enter. Not without expanding it.

Ratchet pointed at Kel with a jab of his servo.

“Back up. You’ve done enough damage to your ribs already. Stay out here before you break something we can’t fix.”

He turned back toward the cave, muttering: “Squishy little scientist…”

Kel frowned. “But I found—”

Beachcomber cut in smoothly.

“We’ll be careful. You should rest… and maybe warm up before frostbite sets in.” Beachcomber gave Kel a thumbs-up. “We’ll take it from here.”

Kel sighed. They weren’t wrong.

He climbed back onto his ATV, engine growling back to life as he turned toward the path home.

The ride back was slow and quiet. He was more cautious now, half-frozen, hands stiff.

When the observatory came into view, he parked the ATV in the garage and headed inside, rubbing warmth back into his fingers. The garage door rumbled shut behind him.

Up the stairs. Into the kitchen.

A packet of shrimp sat empty on the floor.

Someone’s idea of a midnight snack, he thought, opening the fridge.

Inside? A lone container of yogurt.

He closed the door.

"Done. I’m so done with extraterrestrial behavior for the night." Kel mumbled to himself.

Kel stumbled into his room and flopped onto the bed, boots still on. His thoughts buzzed. His hands tingled. His chest still ached.

But sleep came quickly.

Chapter Text

The sound of the Autobots widening the cave reached Kel’s ears, even from the safety of the observatory. It was loud—and it hadn’t stopped for hours.

Kel sighed, waiting for his latest signal to download. The memory of that frozen shuttle lingered in his mind. The feel of its icy frame beneath his fingertips, the vibrations that had rattled his bones—none of it would leave him.

It played over and over like a broken record, and Kel found himself wishing he’d argued more. Wished he’d stayed to watch as the shuttle was slowly unearthed.

The sharp ping of the completed download snapped Kel out of his thoughts. He exhaled and pulled the drive from the computer, setting it aside to send to Bao later.

What did Dr. Bao know about this place, anyway? Why was everything so active here? What had drawn the Autobots—and those aliens with the arrow-shaped ships?

Kel glanced toward the radar.

A new ping.

It was coming from the forest, between two satellite dishes.

He furrowed his brow. Had the Autobots picked up the same signal?

Part of him hoped they hadn’t.

Rising from his desk, Kel slotted a battery into Kerfur and sent the cat-bot skittering off to gather hashcodes.

With that done, he left the signal room, his pace quickening as he made for the garage.

He wanted to find this signal first.

Kel opened the garage, jumped onto the ATV, and revved the engine.

He followed the trail toward one of the satellites, veering off-road as he neared the ping’s location.

Slowing to a stop, Kel stepped off the ATV and made his way down a small hill.

He froze.

The two arrow-shaped ships hovered in front of him.

Right above what looked like... a picnic blanket?

He blinked.

There it was—a red and white checkered blanket, laid out carefully on the grass. Empty plates and small plastic models sat on top of it.

And then he saw them—on one of the plates. Shrimp tails.

Kel stared.

He remembered the stolen shrimp.

Had these aliens seriously used his shrimp... for a picnic?

A stunned laugh escaped him. Aliens who liked shrimp and left behind food? What were they—some kind of cosmic cats leaving gifts?

He rubbed the back of his neck. A part of him wanted to inspect everything more closely, but another part warned him off. He wouldn’t want anyone touching his stuff either.

Still, this was definitely going into the daily report.

Turning away, Kel climbed back up the hill and got onto his ATV.

Then he heard it—the faint rustle of grass behind him.

He looked up.

And stopped.

He wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

Light shimmered strangely, bending and warping around an invisible figure. Something was there.

It stood tall—maybe around eight feet.

It moved closer, each step deliberate.

Kel froze. He could run. He could floor it and ride off, but his body wouldn’t listen.

Fight, flight, or freeze.

He stared at the towering figure now only a few feet away.

It slowly reached out a hand.

Kel reached out in return.

And was promptly pelted with shrimp tails.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The invisible figure suddenly turned and sprinted away.

Kel exhaled and brushed the shrimp remnants off his hoodie, sighing deeply as he started the ATV.

He began the ride back to the observatory, the bizarre moment still fresh in his head.

What was that alien?

Why did it throw shrimp tails at him?

How many were out there?

Why was there so much activity in this place?

Kel had too many questions and no answers. All he knew was that there were at least two alien species here.

And he had made contact with both.

Some part of him—deep in the back of his mind—wondered if even more were still to come.

Chapter Text

Kel yawned as he woke up, stretching slowly. He dragged himself upright and reached for the small pot he’d bought from the company store, filling it with water and setting it to boil. As it heated, he grabbed his dented tin of instant coffee.

He sighed. God, what he wouldn’t give for real coffee.

But caffeine was caffeine.

Once the water boiled, he poured some into a cup and dumped in three scoops of the bitter powder, stirring it absently. Mug in hand, he made his way down to the signal room.

The mechanical doors groaned open, and he was immediately greeted by the shrill sound of the radar going off.

Kel groaned in irritation and downed a gulp of coffee. It burned his tongue and sent a weird ache down his spine.

He coughed, setting the cup down with a clink on his desk.
Something about that radar ping felt... directed at him.

Without wasting time, he turned and left the signal room. The motions were second nature now—leave the signal room, head to the garage, open the door, ride out on the ATV.

It had become part of Kel’s routine.

Though… He forgot to turn on Kerfur again, he realized.

He’d do it later.

He followed the path toward the ping’s coordinates, the ATV buzzing under him, wheels crunching on gravel and frost-bitten soil.

The construction site.

It had always struck him as strange—empty barracks, an old, fenced-in borehole, and not much else. The air felt too still, like the place had been paused mid-thought.

He stopped beside the borehole, climbed off the ATV, and stepped over the broken section of the fence. Looking around, he spotted a slip of paper and a signal drive resting near the rusted grate. He pocketed the drive and crouched beside the borehole, trying to see down.

Too dark. No bottom in sight.

The crunch of gravel caught his attention.

Was that the ATV shifting?

He decided it was, and moved toward the barracks.

As he approached, that same uncanny feeling from before crept up his spine. Something was watching. Waiting. Like a trap had been set, and he was walking straight into it.

He climbed the stairs of the nearest barracks and opened the door. Inside, he saw two crates, a dusty electric lantern, and a weathered journal resting atop one of the crates.

Curious, Kel stepped closer and picked up the journal, flipping to a bookmarked page:

"I am a great soft jelly thing. Smoothly rounded, with no mouth, with pulsing white holes filled by fog where my eyes used to be..."

Kel blinked.

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream.

He knew that passage. Who the hell left this here?

Before he could speculate further, the door behind him buckled, then slammed open.

An invisible figure—larger than the one he’d seen before—stood in the threshold.

Kel didn’t wait. He dove out of the way, scrambling toward the stairs.

The alien gave chase.

Even mostly invisible, Kel could still see the way the light bent around it—a humanoid shape just wrong enough to make the eye slide off it. It was fast.

He hit the gravel running.

He was nearly to the ATV when something struck him—hard.

Everything went black.

“…Kel…”

A voice, distant, muffled.

“…Up… Kel…”

His head throbbed as he returned to consciousness.

“Kel!”

His eyes snapped open.

He lay on cold concrete, the taste of iron lingering in the back of his throat. His hand flew to his head—but no blood. That was a relief.

Hovering above him was someone large and blue and white.

Beachcomber.

The Autobot looked genuinely worried. He crouched down beside Kel, expression soft but tight with concern.

“Hey, kid… you with me?” he asked, voice gentle, more teacher than soldier. “You were out cold when I found you.”

Kel blinked a few times, trying to sit up. “I—I think so. My head’s pounding. What happened?”

Beachcomber glanced around, scanning the abandoned site with narrowed optics. “I was hoping you could tell me. There’s no sign of another Cybertronian. No tracks, no metal residue, no impact points. Just… you.”

He helped steady Kel with one careful servo.

Kel exhaled shakily, rubbing his temples. “Something hit me. I didn’t see what, but it was big. Fast. I didn’t get a good look.”

Beachcomber paused, optics flicking to the ground again. “It wasn’t mechanical. But something’s wrong here.”

Kel looked up at him. “Wrong how?”

Beachcomber tilted his head slightly, almost like he was listening to the earth itself. “The energy’s off. This place was built wrong—dug into something it shouldn’t have. And now it’s humming.”

He tapped his helm, as though trying to organize a thought. “It’s like interference. Subtle, rhythmic. Almost like footsteps. Or breathing.”

Kel went still.

“Did you see anything?” Beachcomber asked.

Kel hesitated.

He wanted to say yes. To explain the alien that had chased and knocked him out. But something about it didn’t feel threatening—just... alien. Curious.

So he lied.

“No. Just… a bad feeling. Like I was being watched.”

Beachcomber didn’t press him.

He nodded, slowly. “Sometimes the mountain sees things before we do. It doesn’t always warn us in ways we understand.”

Kel frowned but didn’t argue. The words didn’t make sense—but they felt true.

Beachcomber straightened slightly, one optic still dimmed with concern. “You should rest. Someone else is here with me—nearby. He’s not quite ready to introduce himself, but… he’s watching, too.”

Kel blinked. “Someone else?”

Beachcomber smiled faintly. “You’ll meet him soon. When the moment’s right.”

Great. Another mystery.

Kel sat up with a groan, glancing toward his ATV. “I can probably ride back.”

Beachcomber crouched lower, his optic ridge quirking slightly. “You were unconscious for ten minutes, Kel.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not.” Beachcomber said, still calm but firm. “You got attacked by something we haven’t identified. You’re alone, in a dead zone, and this whole place has a weird signal. That doesn’t qualify as ‘fine.’”

Kel opened his mouth, but Beachcomber gently held out a servo—not touching, just there, barring the path to the ATV.

Kel sighed. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Beachcomber replied. “You’re the reason I’m here. That makes you important.”

He added, almost dryly, “Besides… I think the mountain’s trying to keep you out of trouble. Let’s not pick another fight with it.”

Was this guy some kind of hippie robot? Kel decided not to ask.

At least Beachcomber cared about the mountains—and nature in general. He’d probably get along with environmentalists better than Kel did.

“…Alright,” Kel relented.

Beachcomber smiled and, with a smooth shift of parts, transformed into a dune buggy in front of him.

Kel stared. "I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that."

He climbed into the passenger seat and buckled in. As the buggy rolled back toward the observatory, Kel glanced up at the sky every so often.

Someone—or something—had seen him. Maybe Beachcomber was right. Maybe he would meet them.

Chapter Text

Waking up with a headache is something Kel absolutely hates. He can still feel where that alien hit him—had it meant to knock him unconscious?

Kel couldn't tell.

He slowly sat up, thinking about fixing himself some coffee—until he heard something from the observatory’s garage.

With a groan of frustration, he left the small room he was staying in. Going downstairs with a pounding skull was the worst.

The sun outside was too bright.

Opening the garage door, Kel squinted through the glare—and paused.

Beachcomber was there, carefully pushing Kel’s ATV back into place, the tires crunching softly over gravel. The Autobot handled the vehicle like it was made of glass, his massive hands gentle as he eased it between the garage walls.

Kel blinked, caught off guard by the sight. “...You fixing my ride now too?”

Beachcomber looked up with a sheepish chuckle, his blue optics softening as they landed on Kel. “Well, you left it out like a tired mule. Thought I’d stable it for you.”

Kel leaned against the doorframe, rubbing his temple. “You didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t say I had to. Just figured you’d appreciate it when your head wasn’t splitting open like a bad coconut.”

Kel grumbled under his breath and muttered a thank-you.

Beachcomber didn’t press, just finished guiding the ATV into place. Then, in a quieter tone: “You’re moving a little better today.”

“I feel like someone parked a tractor on my skull,” Kel replied, dragging a hand down his face. “But yeah. Little better.”

Beachcomber gave a small nod, crouching to be closer to eye level—not intimidating, just present. “That’s good. You gave us a scare.”

Kel snorted. “Didn’t mean to. Just… ran into something.”

Beachcomber tilted his head, thoughtful. “You sure that’s all it was?”

There was no accusation in his voice. Just calm curiosity—the kind that left space to answer… or not.

Kel shrugged. “Whatever it was, it didn’t kill me. Just messed me up a little.”

“Sometimes ‘a little’ turns into a lot when you don’t let yourself rest,” Beachcomber said as he stood again. “You still sore?”

“Everywhere,” Kel muttered. “But I’ve had worse. This place just… attracts weirdness, doesn’t it?”

Beachcomber hummed in agreement. “Weird’s the word. Earth has her secrets—and this mountain’s hoarding a few too many.”

“Something about this place has…” Kel sighed, remembering the carefully worded email he’d received from Dr. Bao. “Something weird about it.”

Maybe it was like Area 51. Or something in the soil. Kel knew it wasn’t really his place to question Bao or the higher-ups.

“Actually, you got something from that drone,” Beachcomber said, holding out a servo to reveal a small insulated box. Kel took it into his arms.

He opened the box and unfolded the note tucked inside. “It’s from Ena and Max,” he murmured, his expression softening. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he scanned the handwriting. At the end of the note, Ena had scrawled: Be careful, mon chéri.

Kel exhaled quietly, folding the note with care.

“Ena and Max?” Beachcomber’s voice rumbled gently from the garage entrance, his tone curious.

“They’re colleagues of mine,” Kel replied without looking up. “Close friends too.”

He rummaged through the packing paper and let out a happy noise. “They got my favorite,” he grinned, holding up two small, chilled boxes. “Sushi.”

Beachcomber tilted his head. “What’s sushi?”

Kel paused, like he’d just heard the most offensive question known to man. “What’s sushi?” he repeated, then straightened up dramatically. “It’s food of the gods.”

Beachcomber blinked slowly.

“It’s fish. Rice. Veggies. Wrapped in seaweed sometimes. Depends on the type. Some have spicy mayo, pickled radish, or eel sauce—absolute heaven.” He cradled the box with reverence. “Doesn’t have as good a crunch as bugs do, though.”

Beachcomber raised an optic ridge.

Kel turned toward the observatory’s back hallway. “Anyway, I need to get this in the fridge before the temperature kills it.”

Beachcomber nodded vaguely, watching him go.

…Wait.

Crunch like bugs?

He squinted after the human.

Did he just say—?

Beachcomber stared blankly at the gravel for a moment, optics dimming in thought.

"Bugs. The same things we swerve to avoid or scrape off our plating. He eats those."

The Autobot shook his head slowly. “Humans are weird,” he muttered—not unkindly.

He stood up from where he’d been kneeling in front of the garage, brushing grit off his arm plates.

Then—

A transmission buzzed in over his comms, breaking through the quiet hum of the mountains.

“Beachcomber, you copy? Something just pinged from orbit. Brief flare, subspace disturbance.”

Skyfire’s voice came in clear.

“We lost it after twenty seconds. Might’ve been a cloaked drop—or a misfire.”

Beachcomber’s optics narrowed. He stepped away from the garage, casting his gaze toward the sky—his sensors already sweeping long-range.

“Send me coordinates,” he answered calmly, though his jaw set a little tighter. “Let’s hope it’s not what I think it is.”

Back inside, Kel was carefully sliding his precious sushi into the fridge, oblivious to the possibility that his sleepy mountain might be about to get even stranger.

He approached the window as he heard Beachcomber transform and drive off. He raised a brow.

Why was he driving so fast? And heading toward one of the mountains?

Maybe something was wrong with one of his friends. Kel hoped not.

He glanced back at one of the sushi boxes. Opening it, he popped a piece into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He had work to do.

After storing the rest of the sushi, Kel headed back downstairs and entered the signal room.

He put on his headphones and began scanning.

His first signal of the day came quickly. Much too quickly.

He frowned and began processing it, his foot tapping anxiously on the concrete floor as the data parsed.

Then the signal went through.

And Kel felt—dread?

Why?

He played the audio.

Immediately, he ripped the headphones off with a choked noise. Pain lanced through his ears as a screeching, mechanical language tore through the headset.

It was familiar. And it hurt.

Kel’s ears were ringing.

“What the hell…?” he muttered, breath shallow.

Something was wrong.

Chapter Text

Kel couldn't get his mind off the signal he’d heard the day before. That familiar mechanical language—it sounded eerily similar to the one the Autobots had used when they first met him.

Were there more Cybertronians?

The thought alone gave Kel a headache.

He sighed, scrolling through the company’s equipment store. The cameras he’d ordered previously were decent, but they still had issues. Luckily, newer models were available—and Kel had saved enough.

He tapped his foot against the floor as he came to a decision.

Three new security cameras. That sounded good.

Good enough for Kel, anyway.

They’d take a day to arrive, but he could wait. Plus, if the footage was higher quality, maybe Dr. Bao would finally cough up a raise. Especially with all the Cybertronian activity.

"Wait..." Kel glanced at the time, then to the signal room door.

Kerfur should’ve been back by now. In fact, the rolling cat-bot was at least fifteen minutes late.

“Did Kerfur get stuck again?” Kel muttered.

He made his way to the garage and rode out on his ATV, following the path he knew Kerfur was programmed to take.

Strangely, there were no optics on him this time.

Maybe the Autobots had finally learned to respect his privacy? Or maybe they were off doing... whatever giant sentient robots did for fun.

Then Kel saw it.

His ATV screeched to a halt as something in the middle of the trail caught his eye.

Kerfur. Busted and broken.

“Shit!” Kel cursed, jumping off the ATV and sprinting to the shattered remains of his first companion in this godforsaken place.

He knew Kerfur wasn’t alive—just a machine. But he’d grown so attached. Seeing it in pieces felt like kneeling beside a friend who’d just been murdered.

Kel’s hands trembled as he crouched next to the wreckage. Maybe it could be fixed?

He gently picked up what used to be Kerfur’s faceplate—the little screen that had once blinked and flickered with fake expressions.

Was he really crying over a replaceable droid?

It wasn’t raining, and yet droplets were falling onto Kerfur’s shattered screen.

God. He felt so pathetic.

He could buy another Kerfur. There were plenty in the store.

But it felt… wrong.

“Damn it!” Kel screamed, the sound echoing through the indifferent forest. The trees didn’t care about his grief. The ground didn’t mourn his loss.

What was he—a child?

A noise snapped him out of it.

The sound of twigs breaking under something’s weight.

Kel quickly wiped his eyes. The last thing he needed was for an Autobot to see him crying over what basically amounted to a glorified toy.

He turned around and froze.

A mountain lion?

No… it was too dark. Too sleek. Metallic.

Panther?

The creature was all black and gray—every inch of it gleaming metal.

"Hey... kitty kitty..." Kel muttered, instantly regretting those as his first words.

The metal panther huffed and began to stalk forward.

It was going to attack.

He’d end up like Kerfur.

Kel dove onto the ATV and started the engine.

The vehicle kicked into motion, but the panther chased him, its claws barely missing the tires. It was fast—inhumanly fast.

Was it going to eat him? Or just tear him apart?

Did robots even eat?

Kel didn’t have time to think. All he could do was drive and pray whatever higher power watched over him still cared.

He glanced behind him—too close. The panther was right there.

“Oh fu—”

He didn’t have time to finish the curse.

He looked back to the front just as he crashed into a tree.

The ATV slammed forward. Kel was launched into the dirt, the horn blaring on impact.

Pain shot through him—his skin scraped raw by rocks and twigs.

Kel’s entire body trembled as he forced himself up, gasping.

The metal panther stared him down.

This was it.

This was really how he was going to die. Torn apart by some alien machine-cat in a forgotten forest. No backup. No rescue.

No Ena. No Max.

Just bones in the dirt.

And Kel… Kel was afraid.

He screamed as the panther lunged.

This was the end.

But the pain never came.

Instead—a deafening explosion.

A wall of heat and sound knocked him off his feet, the air ripped from his lungs.

The panther hissed, shaking its head, then turned and fled into the woods.

Kel gasped for air, blinking through the ringing in his ears.

And standing there—looming in the haze—was a red Autobot.

Old. Worn. Angry.

But also… concerned?

Kel looked down at himself.

He wasn’t dying, at least not visibly. His clothes were ripped, and he was bleeding in several places, but nothing fatal. Still… everything hurt.

He didn’t know what to do.

He had to patch himself up, try to fix Kerfur, report back—do his job.

But he couldn’t.

Not right now.

A ragged sob escaped his chest, raw and hopeless.

Why him?

What had he done to deserve this?

He had to be cursed. Or punished. Or abandoned.

Why else would he have been sent here?

He broke down—again.

His second breakdown in front of a Cybertronian.

But this one didn’t come close. Didn’t speak.

The Autobot stood like a statue. Watching.

Kel curled into himself, sobbing quietly into the dirt. The grief, the fear, the exhaustion—all of it crashing down like a wave.

Still, the Autobot didn’t leave.

He stood guard.

Rigid. Unmoving.

Like a sentinel waiting out the storm.

Chapter Text

Kel felt numb as he entered the observatory. That red Autobot had helped move his ATV back onto the path.

Kel didn’t know how the thing didn’t break, but it would definitely need some repairs.

Still, all he could think about was collapsing.

Kerfur was destroyed. His jacket was ripped. He was covered in cuts and bruises that still ached, even after using the painkillers from the observatory’s first-aid kit.

Kel dropped down onto the workbench in the garage, his movements stiff and sluggish. He unzipped the first-aid kit—its teeth opening with a sound that echoed off the walls, far louder than it should’ve been.

Slowly, he pulled out what he needed: antiseptic, bandages, and some cream for the bruises.

The antiseptic stung like hell. Kel hissed through his teeth as he cleaned the wounds, then carefully wrapped the worst cuts and dabbed the cream on the angry purple welts.

His hair was matted with grass and mud.

Screw it.

He was taking a shower. Open wounds or not, he didn’t care what was or wasn’t recommended. He needed the hot water more than he needed caution.

Meanwhile…

Two Autobots arrived at the site where Kerfur’s mangled body still lay.

The frame was shattered—almost beyond repair.

“The 'Cons really did a number on this, didn’t they, Percy?” Wheeljack crouched down beside the wreckage, optics scanning the damage.

“It’s not surprising,” Perceptor sighed. He peered at the primitive construction of the small bot—primitive by Cybertronian standards, at least. “It would’ve broken sooner or later.”

Wheeljack nodded. He gently scooped up Kerfur’s remains in his servos. The thing was so small, clearly built for human hands. It was a miracle it lasted this long, getting stuck in so many places in this forest.

“I wonder if we can fix it,” Wheeljack mused, turning the broken frame over. “Or maybe upgrade it.”

“Wheeljack,” Perceptor warned, using that flat tone that meant don’t go full mad scientist on me. “Let’s not accidentally turn it into a mobile artillery platform.”

“I’m just saying,” Wheeljack grumbled. “Sure, we could repair it. But you’ve seen how many times it’s powered down. I don’t know how that human puts up with it.”

“It collects data from the satellites. It’s important to his job,” Perceptor replied, though his gaze lingered on the cracked screen. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of interest. Kel always pet the little bot like it was alive…

Wait.

“If the human kept petting this…” Perceptor’s expression shifted. “Would it have overheated? Was this some kind of slow-burning bomb?”

That got a laugh out of Wheeljack.

Perceptor sighed and facepalmed. He swore he was going to dent his faceplate one of these days.

“Let’s just take it back to the Ark,” he muttered. Together, the two scientists made their way back toward the ship.

After his shower, Kel stumbled out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. He dried off and pulled on a pair of pajamas—soft, with a little Keljoy character design on them.

They still smelled faintly of French perfume—Ena’s scent.

It clung to the fabric, stubborn and nostalgic. Kel used to smell it every night back in college, when he and Ena would share a bed—not as lovers, but as something softer. Closer than friends, but never romantic.

He was glad they were still close. They never needed romance. That wasn’t what they were made for.

Kel huffed and walked through the observatory, stopping in front of the signal room. He opened the door automatically—then froze.

Right. Kerfur was still out there. Broken.

Kel exhaled slowly.

Why do people get so attached to things they know won’t last? Why did he cling to that stupid robot like it was more than metal?

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair.

But Kel couldn’t swap out the cards he was dealt. He had to play the hand. Even if he was life’s punching bag.

A bitter laugh escaped him as he climbed the stairs to his room.

Opening the door, he spotted the empty sushi container sitting on the desk.

In its place?

Yogurt. Again.

“Damn it,” Kel muttered. He’d really been looking forward to that dragon roll.

With a sigh, he grabbed the yogurt and a spoon. “Fine,” he grumbled, “let’s see what fate’s serving today.”

He popped the lid and took a bite.

Surprisingly… it wasn’t bad. Sweet, smooth. No flavor he could place—but familiar, somehow. Like a forgotten midnight snack from years ago.

He looked back toward the fridge.

Wait.

The first yogurt container the invisible aliens—whatever they were—left for him?

Gone.

“Did… did they try to feed me while I was asleep?” Kel muttered.

He collapsed backward into bed, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

If he died in his sleep choking on alien yogurt, well… that would be one hell of a way to go.

Not a great way.

But not the worst either.

Probably.

Okay yeah, it would be bad.

Chapter Text

This damned bot was so... primitive. At least, that’s how it seemed to Perceptor.

It was a drone with a wheel and a screen for a face—something some Cybertronians had, sure—but even by human standards, this droid was basic.

Not that humanity had tech on par with Cybertronians, but building something that constantly got stuck or died while doing its job? Something that could barely last eight hours without a recharge? That was just sad.

“Human tech is so... primitive,” Perceptor sighed, watching Wheeljack tinker with the little drone.

“Well, if we repair the little guy, maybe we can get on friendlier terms with Kel,” Wheeljack shrugged. He'd picked up the human’s name from Blaster and Beachcomber. As he carefully disassembled what remained of Kerfur’s shredded body, he added, “Who knows? Maybe we’ll be able to hold a conversation without him getting moody.”

Just as Wheeljack said that, the lab doors hissed open. Both scientists looked up to see who entered.

Skyfire.

“Wheeljack, is that...?” Skyfire trailed off, recognizing the broken remains of the drone. He’d seen Kel messing with the little thing from afar during his flyovers of the observatory.

“Yep,” Wheeljack confirmed, attention returning to Kerfur. “Ravage found it. Tore it apart, then chased Kel. ‘Hide stepped in before things got fatal.”

Skyfire let out a heavy breath. The one day he hadn’t done a patrol over the observatory, the human who found him in his icy prison had nearly died.

“You should talk to him,” Perceptor said, glancing at the shuttle-former. “You fly over every day but never show yourself.”

“I’m... bigger than most bots, Perceptor,” Skyfire replied with a sigh, looking down at his own massive servos. “Kel seems skittish. Probably from the isolation. I don’t want to scare him off.”

Wheeljack rolled his optics as he pried open what remained of Kerfur’s chassis. “You’ll never know unless you try—”

He cut himself off, staring down at the internals of the drone.

He could work with this. Oh, he definitely could. Multiple chips were tucked inside the frame, but what really caught his attention was the memory chip—intact.

“Well, would you look at this... I wanna see what’s on here.” He leaned in, though he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Kerfur was built by humans for humans—one wrong move, and he’d crush the whole thing.

“I’ll have one of the minibots help me extract it later,” he muttered, gently sliding parts into a tray to keep them separated and protect the memory unit.

“When we spoke with Dr. Hans Baom about the drone,” Perceptor added, “he said Kel could just buy another. That it didn’t matter if ‘Kerfur,’ as Kel called it, was destroyed.”

“That’s cold,” Skyfire said quietly.

“Kel seems emotionally attached to, uh... Kerfer?” Skyfire asked.

“Kerfur,” Perceptor corrected.

“Right. Kerfur.” Skyfire nodded. “He’s attached like it’s a pet. I doubt buying a new one would feel right to him.”

“I heard there’s an upgraded version,” Wheeljack chimed in. “Kerfur Omega. Bao mentioned it in passing. But apparently, it uses components that are dangerous for humans—something about a barely shielded radioactive core.”

Wheeljack’s tone grew grim. He knew Bao’s type—pragmatic to the point of cruelty. Only valued people for what they could provide. There were Autobots like that, too. He’d had to work with them before.

And Kel? From what little Wheeljack had gathered, he was young—a recent graduate, dropped in the middle of the mountains, practically abandoned.

Wheeljack didn’t want him ending up as a casualty. Neither did Perceptor or Skyfire. He could tell.

But it wasn’t just Kel and some broken tech anymore.

The Decepticons had crashed somewhere deeper in the mountain range. And there was another alien race watching from the shadows.

“I think we should add a distress beacon. Maybe a basic defense protocol.” Wheeljack glanced at Kerfur’s shell again. He couldn’t stop imagining what could’ve happened if ‘Hide hadn’t intervened. The kid didn’t even have a radio on him.

He didn’t need to have met Kel to care.

“Fine,” Perceptor relented, seeing the determination in Wheeljack’s optics—and the subtle agreement in Skyfire’s stance. “One or two small additions. But no high-powered cannons. Last thing we need is for the observatory to be blown off the map.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples.

It was going to be a long night.

Why hadn’t they brought any Engex?

Well... at least they’d be done by tomorrow.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Chapter Text

Without Kerfur, Kel’s job had gotten a lot harder. That became obvious the moment he had to go from the observatory to each satellite dish on foot—or, well, by ATV—just to collect hashcodes.

Before buying Kerfur, Kel had done all of this manually. But now? Now he realized just how much he had relied on that little bot for even the most basic tasks.

The ATV rolled to a stop in front of one of the satellites—Foxtrot. Kel dismounted with a sigh, starting the climb up the metal stairs.

“This was easier with Kerfur,” he muttered.

He reached the satellite’s small server room, opened the door, and started the process of collecting today’s hashcode.

It didn’t take long, but it felt like an eternity—especially with the lingering paranoia. That panther-like robot could be out there, waiting.

Sure, he was lucky an Autobot had saved him last time, but his gut told him the panther wasn’t one of them. It had a different insignia.

“This is getting complicated,” Kel mumbled, writing down the code and preparing to leave.

But something made him stop.

A strange feeling.

He was used to being watched—usually by curious or suspicious Autobots—but this felt... hostile.

He swallowed.

Should he risk going outside?

“Nope.” Kel shut the satellite’s door and pressed himself into a corner of the tiny room, hoping to stay out of sight.

But he heard something.

Footsteps—heavy ones.

The tension in Kel’s chest tightened.

Between the Cybertronians and the invisible aliens, he couldn’t tell who—or what—was coming for him this time.

That is, until something smashed through the metal door.

A dark blue hand.

Kel let out a high-pitched scream—one that, honestly, would've impressed Ena and Maxie.

He kicked at the hand as it grabbed one of his legs—only for his other leg to be snatched too, yanking him forward.

His world flipped as he was dragged out of the satellite and dangled upside down.

Only when the movement stopped did Kel force his eyes open.

A Cybertronian.

Dark blue and white, face masked, with a single, piercing red visor that made Kel’s blood run cold.

It stared at him.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

A flat, synthetic voice broke the silence:

“Observatory: Broadcasting. Purpose—clarify.”

Kel blinked. “...What?”

Again, the same monotone:

“Observatory: Broadcasting. Purpose—clarify.”

The words sent a chill down Kel’s spine. Blood rushed to his head. He felt lightheaded—his thoughts slowing from fear and gravity.

Was he supposed to answer that?

“I—uh… the Alpen Signal Observatory…” he stammered. “It’s for intercepting alien signals. Listening, you know? Just listening…”

He wasn’t sure if he made sense. His brain was scrambling.

The Cybertronian said nothing.

Only watched.

Recorded.

Kel’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s… research. Just research. I swear.”

Still no response.

No nod.

No confirmation that it even understood—or cared.

The silence was crushing.

Then, suddenly, Kel was dropped. Not a long fall—but jarring enough. His hands scraped against the grated metal as he hit the entrance of Foxtrot, catching himself just enough to avoid hitting his head.

He winced and looked up.

The Cybertronian loomed above him, still watching.

Kel couldn’t move.

That red visor bore down on him like a laser.

And then it spoke again, voice like cold steel:

“You are the anomaly. Audio file: unstable. Data—leaking.”

It leaned forward. The visor glowed brighter.

“You are being heard. By more than just us.”

Kel’s breath caught.

He knew that was possible, sure, but hearing it from this thing… It felt like a threat.

“Lifeform: human. Weak.”

That... wasn’t wrong.

Kel was weak.

He wanted to snap back, to yell, So what?

But what good would that do?

It’d just get him killed.

The Cybertronian stared for a moment longer.

Then—

The roar of jet engines shattered the air.

The dark figure stepped back slightly as a massive shape descended.

A shuttle.

Kel’s eyes widened.

He knew that shuttle. The one from the frozen cave.

He barely had time to react before it transformed midair.

“Back away from the human, Decepticon!”

The voice was commanding—furious.

The massive mech activated thrusters at his feet and launched himself like a missile at the dark blue Cybertronian.

The impact shook the entire Foxtrot satellite.

Kel grabbed the railing, his heart racing as he watched the enemy slowly get up from the dirt.

It didn’t say anything.

It just looked at its new opponent… and backed off.

A silent retreat.

Then it vanished into the trees.

Kel stood frozen, staring after it—until the shuttlebot turned to him.

The mech was huge. Easily taller than any Cybertronian Kel had seen yet.

But instead of towering over him, he kneeled.

Lowering himself to Kel’s level.

“Hello there,” he said gently, voice soft and almost... warm.

Kel took a shaky breath. “I... Hello.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was grounding.

For the first time since this madness began, Kel looked at a Cybertronian and didn’t feel like prey.

Optimus had been kind, sure.

But this one?

This one wanted to understand him.

Like Ena.

Like Max.

Like a friend.

Chapter Text

Kel was at ease as Skyfire took him back to the observatory, the last of the needed hashcodes in hand. Normally, he would’ve returned on his ATV—but the idea of traveling alone after what happened was terrifying.

Skyfire understood that. The fear of being attacked again wasn’t irrational, so the shuttle-form Cybertronian had simply scooped up both Kel and the ATV, carrying them back to safety.

As the observatory came into view, Kel spotted something he didn’t expect.

Kerfur.

Or… at least, an upgraded version of it.

Skyfire didn’t hesitate to set Kel down the moment he saw the human’s stunned expression. Kel ran to the new unit immediately. It looked like Kerfur—same screen face, same cat-like frame—but sleeker. Stronger. Slightly taller than before. The plating was better, but it kept the playful feline charm.

“Kerfur…” Kel smiled as he crouched down beside the bot. “You really fixed him…”

Skyfire gave a low, amused sound—almost a subdued chuckle. “He wasn’t just a drone to you. We noticed. Though, I only helped a little.”

Kel blinked in confusion. "We"?

His question was answered when another Autobot stepped into view. He’d likely been waiting nearby for a while, judging by where he stood.

“Had to pull a triple shift, but the little guy’s back online,” the bot said, kneeling slightly to meet Kel’s gaze. A friendly smile tugged at his faceplate. “Nice to finally meet you. Name’s Wheeljack.”

Kel was surprised. He hadn’t done much for the Autobots… and yet they’d repaired Kerfur. Made him better.

“Figured you’d appreciate a bot that can climb stairs instead of tipping over on ’em,” Wheeljack explained with a chuckle. The new Kerfur’s frame was slim and athletic—crafted from titanium-carbon composite plates over shock-absorbing servos.

Then, Wheeljack leaned in and smirked.
“No cannons, no rocket fists, and definitely no antimatter core,” he said in a mock whisper. “Perceptor threatened to weld my lab shut if I armed a pet.”

“Perceptor?” Kel echoed, eyebrows raised. Then it clicked. “Wait—antimatter core?!”

He could only imagine the nightmare of dealing with a Kerfur powered by something that volatile.

Whoever this Perceptor was, they’d just spared Kel a massive headache.

“I did give it built-in tasers though,” Wheeljack added, proudly. “Perceptor actually approved those.”

That wasn’t entirely reassuring, but… at least Kerfur could defend itself now. And maybe Kel, too.

As Wheeljack continued explaining the upgrades—mentioning things like better terrain tracking, remote uplinks, and a reinforced chassis—Skyfire’s comm crackled to life.

The shuttle-bot paused, nodding slightly before looking to Wheeljack.

“We’re needed back at the Ark. New activity,” he said.

Wheeljack perked up. “Optimus and the others are checking if it’s Decepticon-related?”

Skyfire nodded. “Could be. We’ll find out.”

He turned back to Kel, giving a softer expression. “Maybe I’ll drop by again sometime.”

With that, both bots transformed—Wheeljack into a ground vehicle and Skyfire into his shuttle form—and departed, disappearing across the tree line and into the sky.

At least today was starting to look up.

Kel turned to Kerfur, scratching his head. He eyed the upgraded bot, then reached out and gave it a pat on the head.

The familiar, digital “Meow!” chirped from its screen.

Kel laughed softly. “At least they didn’t change that.”

He walked back toward the observatory, Kerfur padding along behind him.

Inside, Kel made his way to the signal room and opened the door. The familiar hum of electronics greeted him. He sat at his desk with a sigh, facing the interface that once made him feel completely alone.

These signals—voices of the void—had once been his burden. Before the Cybertronians came, he thought he was the only one listening.

Now? Not so much.

The first few signals that came through were normal. Routine. And normalcy… that was something Kel had begun to crave again.

Then the screen flickered.

A new signal.

Odd… fast… and the satellites couldn’t pin it down.

All Kel saw was a small, very fast-moving golden object on the tracking grid—there one second, gone the next.

“Oh, great… more aliens,” Kel muttered. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face. “Just what I needed.”

He made a mental note to report this to the Autobots.

…Assuming they didn’t already know.

They probably did.

Chapter Text

Kel’s wake-up call was all too familiar—the ground trembling beneath him as the observatory’s warning sirens blared. It reminded him far too much of the day the Cybertronians arrived.

He threw himself out of bed as Kerfur booted up beside him, the cat-like drone following closely as Kel sprinted out of the observatory.

What he found was… unexpected.

Some kind of golden… thing.

Kel blinked at it. It looked oddly familiar. A fast-moving golden stick?

Then it clicked.

It was the object the satellites had picked up yesterday.

Kel cautiously approached the thing. Up close, it looked more like an obelisk—sleek and metallic, adorned with symbols carved into its surface.

“This is definitely some kind of obelisk,” Kel murmured, mostly to himself—and Kerfur, who stayed close by his side.

“I wouldn’t get too close.”

Kel nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. He turned sharply and saw a familiar red and blue Autobot—not Optimus, but one who had observed him from afar before.

The bot approached with care, kneeling down to examine the obelisk more closely.

“I wonder what—” The bot flinched mid-sentence, and so did Kel, as a hologram burst to life above the obelisk, casting eerie golden light across the ground.

“Uh... What does it say? Uhm...” Kel paused, realizing he didn’t know the bot’s name.

“It looks like a warning,” the bot replied, glancing at him. “I’m Perceptor.”

“Perceptor... The one who let Wheeljack give Kerfur a taser?” Kel asked. Perceptor gave a small nod in confirmation.

Kel squinted at the projection. The hologram displayed a simple but clear image—something glowing, spherical, and ominous. The warning seemed to imply: Stay away.

“I haven’t seen any glowing orbs,” Kel murmured.

“Maybe because they haven’t shown themselves yet,” Perceptor replied, standing up and glancing toward the treeline. “I need to inform Optimus. If they do appear, I have a feeling that warning should be taken seriously.”

He looked at Kel one last time. “Be careful.”

Then Perceptor turned and left.

Kel sighed.

Another day, another alien-induced migraine.

He glanced back at the obelisk, stepping in a little closer. The markings still glowed faintly, but nothing more happened.

“Odd,” he muttered, then turned and made his way back to the observatory.

The rest of the day passed relatively normally. Kerfur fetched hashcodes, managed to fix a couple of satellite servers, and helped log daily data. Kel blamed their recent issues on Cybertronian interference—probably unintentional, but still annoying.

The signals Kel received were standard—exoplanet pings, faint transmissions from distant moons. He packaged them with the daily report and handed them off to a drone for upload.

With Ratchet absent, Kel allowed himself a small vice. He walked to his quarters and grabbed his cigarettes and lighter. It had been a while since he had a decent smoke, and his nerves were wearing thin.

Lighting up on the balcony, he let out a long breath, cigarette dangling from his lips.

That’s when he saw it.

A golden glow in the woods.

“…No way,” he muttered.

It moved slowly—too smoothly to be Cybertronian. Not fast, not sluggish. Controlled.

Kel leaned over the railing, watching it snake through the trees. It didn’t make the heavy, thunderous footfalls of a Cybertronian. It was quiet. Too quiet.

“I guess that obelisk wasn’t lying…” he murmured.

Then he heard something else. Heavy steps. A smaller Cybertronian—judging by the sound—was approaching the glow.

“What kind of idiot walks toward a glowing orb?” Kel asked under his breath, gripping the railing.

The bot finally emerged from the treeline. Purple and white, with a sharp red visor—eerily similar to the one that had attacked Kel before.

They locked eyes. Kel froze.

Then the orb caught up.

It struck.

The bot was lifted into the air, suspended, and forcibly turned toward the orb. Kel’s breath caught in his throat.

Then—horrifyingly—the Cybertronian was ripped apart.

Piece by piece.

Screams tore from its vocalizer, and glowing blue fluid sprayed across the forest floor.

Even though they weren’t organic, the violence of it was too much. Too real.

Kel dropped his cigarette and bolted inside the observatory, slamming the door shut and backing away, gasping for air.

His vision spun. His hands trembled.

He couldn’t stop picturing it—that happening to him. His limbs torn off. His body dangling like a marionette.

He dropped to his knees, barely realizing he was crying. Screaming.

Only when Kerfur wrapped his arms around him—metal, cold, but comforting—did Kel even register the world again.

He clung to the bot like a lifeline, nails scraping against the alloy as he tried, and failed, to calm down.

The warning had been real.

And Kel had never felt more fragile.

More human.

Eventually, the fear won out.

Kel passed out in Kerfur’s arms.