Transformers.2007 ›

“You’ve got forty-eight hours and one hell of an air support,” Lennox replied. He looked at Sam. “You’re not going.”

Lennox felt a strange pang in his chest. Hours ago, he was hunting these things as weapons of mass destruction. Now, he was standing guard while one of them mourned. He looked at Captain Sharp, who was coordinating human casualties. The man gave a curt nod. The military’s job was containment. Lennox’s job had just become… diplomacy.

Lennox straightened his uniform. “Then we buy you a window. How long do you need?”

Optimus gave one last look at Sam. Then, with a surge of blinding light, the Ark’s space bridge tore a hole in reality itself. The Autobots—carrying Bumblebee, carrying the Cube, carrying the memory of a battle fought on a strange little world—stepped through. transformers.2007

Sam just nodded, his jaw tight. He wasn't looking at the Cube. He was looking at the still, gray form of Bumblebee, his guardian, lying crumpled against a shattered fountain. Legs twisted, optics dark, a quiet hiss of escaping coolant the only sound.

Sam nodded, watching the last trace of light fade. “Yeah,” he said, finally allowing the tears to fall. “They always do.”

A roar of jets split the sky. Not F-22s. A different, sharper sound. “You’ve got forty-eight hours and one hell of

Silence fell over the group. Sam looked from the Cube to Bumblebee’s broken form.

And Optimus Prime, holding the AllSpark like a fragile child, looked up at the fading stars.

But Optimus lowered his head, his optics meeting Sam’s. “No, Samuel. This is where our paths diverge. You gave the Cube to me. You gave me your trust. Now, give me your goodbye. Bumblebee would never forgive me if I led you into the darkness between worlds.” Hours ago, he was hunting these things as

“You did well, Samuel,” Optimus rumbled, his voice a tectonic plate shifting. He held the AllSpark, now reduced to a cube the size of a basketball, cupped in his massive hands. It pulsed with a light that seemed to hum under the skin, a silent frequency of creation.

“Watch me,” Sam shot back.

The silence was absolute.

“He would do it again,” Jazz added, his lean, silver frame flickering with residual energy damage. “It is the way of our spark.”