Sunlight beat down on the cracked clay of the Mexican desert. Sam ran until his lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass. Carly’s hand was a tight, sweating vice in his. Every footstep felt heavy, dragging through the loose sand as they scrambled behind a crumbling adobe wall. Dust swirled in the dry, oppressive breeze. Below them, the valley stretched out like an empty grave, broken only by the shimmering heatwaves radiating off the dirt. "Sam," Carly whispered, her voice cracking from sheer dehydration. "We can't keep doing this. My legs are giving out." Pressing his back against the hot brick, Sam peeked around the edge. Black tactical SUVs kicked up massive plumes of dirt about a mile away. Above them, a sleek, silent drone hovered, its optical lens catching the harsh sun. They were being hunted. Not by Decepticons, but by their own kind. "Just a little further," Sam muttered, though he knew it was a lie. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. The sheer injustice of it made his blood boil. Chicago was supposed to be the end. They had saved the world, yet here they were, running like common criminals through the desolate outskirts of Mexico. A sudden, thunderous roar cut through the desert silence. Gears ground together in a familiar, aggressive rhythm. From behind a ridge of cacti, a yellow Chevrolet Camaro leaped into view, its tires tearing through the sand. It drifted sharply, stopping bare inches from where they cowered. Passenger doors flew open instantly. "Get in!" a voice barked from the radio, a patchwork of news broadcasts and movie clips. Sam grabbed Carly’s waist, shoving her into the front seat before scrambling in behind her. The door slammed shut with a heavy metallic thud. Instantly, the steering wheel spun itself. The Camaro launched forward, its tires digging into the dirt as it sped away from the approaching SUVs. "Bee!" Sam gasped, gripping the dashboard as the car surged. "How did you find us?" Radio static hissed, followed by a somber tone. "Optimus told me... to get you outta here," the radio replied, switching quickly to a frantic reporter's voice. "You're on the FBI's most wanted list." Carly gasped, her hands shaking as she clutched the seatbelt. "Most wanted? We didn't do anything! We helped them!" "Doesn't matter to them anymore," Sam said, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. He watched the rearview mirror. "They want us dead. All of us." Behind them, the tracking drone dived. A missile detached from its wing. Bumblebee swerved hard, his tires screeching as the rocket impacted the dirt path behind them. The explosion sent a shower of rocks and fiery debris slamming against the Camaro’s rear windshield. Carly screamed, burying her face in Sam’s shoulder. "Hang on!" Bumblebee’s radio chirped, playing a snippet of a high-speed chase movie. Accelerating to breakneck speeds, the yellow car veered off the road entirely, plunging down a steep, rocky ravine to lose the aerial surveillance. --- Hours passed in tense, suffocating silence. Carly had finally fallen into an uneasy sleep, her head resting against Sam's shoulder. Sam stared out the window at the passing cacti. His mind was a chaotic mess of anger and confusion. Megatron had survived Chicago. The Decepticon leader had dragged his broken body away, refusing the truce but leaving the city in ruins. Optimus had executed Sentinel Prime without hesitation, a cold, calculated move that showed how much the war had changed him. And then, the humans turned on them anyway. "Where is Optimus, Bee?" Sam asked softly, careful not to wake Carly. The steering wheel twitched. "Signal... lost," the radio played back in a somber, low-pitched voice. "He went... into hiding." "He left us?" "To protect you," a gentle voice from a classic film responded. Red rock formations began to rise out of the darkness like giant, silent giants. Monument Valley, Arizona. The iconic landscape was beautiful, but tonight it felt like a graveyard. Bumblebee navigated through a narrow canyon, his tires crunching on loose gravel. He finally stopped in a deep, hidden basin surrounded by towering sandstone walls. Sam shook Carly gently. "Hey. We're here." Opening her eyes, Carly looked around at the dark, looming rocks. "Is this it?" They stepped out of the car. The night air was freezing, biting through their thin clothes. Suddenly, a massive, blocky shape materialized from the shadows. Heavy, metallic footsteps shook the ground. Hound stepped forward, his massive cybertronian frame adorned with heavy weaponry. A metal cigar rested in his metallic teeth. "Well, look what the cat dragged in. You brought the squishy ones, Bee?" "Show some respect, Hound," a sharp, disciplined voice echoed. Drift stepped down from a ledge, his blue armor gleaming faintly under the starlight. He held his dual swords sheathed at his waist. "Yeah, and look where that got us," a green Corvette transformed nearby, shifting into Crosshairs. He crossed his arms, leaning against the rock wall. "Hunted like dogs. I say we leave the humans to their own mess and get off this rock." Hound spat his metallic cigar onto the dirt. "And go where, greenhorn? We don't have a ship. And Prime is gone." Carly stepped forward, her voice trembling but determined. "He’s not gone. Optimus wouldn't just abandon us." "He had to scatter," Sam added, stepping in front of her. "The government has a new unit. Cemetery Wind. They aren't just looking for Decepticons. They're hunting Autobots. They killed Leadfoot. They're coming for all of us." A heavy silence fell over the makeshift camp. Bumblebee whirred sadly, his optics dimming as he rested his heavy head on his hands. Drift bowed his head. "We must remain hidden. The humans have lost their honor." "Honor don't pay for ammo," Hound grunted, patting his massive gatling gun. "But if they come looking for a fight, I'll give 'em one they won't forget." --- Thousands of miles away, rain poured over the state of Texas. Optimus Prime dragged his massive, battered frame through a ditch running alongside a desolate highway. Energon, glowing a faint, sickly blue, leaked from a massive tear in his chest plates. His left optical sensor was cracked, static flickering across his field of vision. Every joint shrieked in protest. The execution of Sentinel Prime had taken a heavy toll on his spark, and the subsequent betrayal by the human military had shattered whatever hope he had left for co-existence. He was a fugitive. A monster in the eyes of the world he had sacrificed everything to protect. Headlights cut through the downpour in the distance. Optimus forced himself down into the muddy ditch, holding his breath as a military convoy rolled past. They were scanning for his specific signature. He couldn't keep this form. The heavy Peterbilt truck was too iconic, too easily spotted by satellites. He needed to fade away. Through the heavy rain, his sensors picked up a dilapidated salvage yard. Inside, parked behind a rotting chain-link fence, was a relic. A 1973 Marmon cab-over-engine semi-truck. It was covered in thick layers of rust, its chrome pitted and dull, its windows cracked and caked with grime. It was a forgotten piece of junk. Perfect. Optimus approached the rusted vehicle. His optics flared, projecting a pale blue scanning matrix over the ancient truck. Groaning metal echoed through the empty yard as his systems initiated the transformation. His massive, complex armor plates began to fold inward. The vibrant blue and red paint bubbled and peeled, replaced by the oxidized, primer-grey and corroded brown of the Marmon. His chassis compressed, shedding his heavy battle gear to adopt the flat, blocky shape of the vintage cab-over. When it was finished, he looked like nothing more than a piece of scrap metal ready for the crusher. He turned his engine over. It coughed violently, spitting black smoke, before settling into a low, rattling growl. He put the heavy machine into gear and rolled out of the yard. Traveling along the dark, empty backroads, he headed toward Paris, Texas. It was a dying town, a place where a rusted old truck could sit unnoticed for years. The rain stopped by the time he reached the outskirts. He found an old, abandoned movie theater. Its marquee was shattered, its doors hanging off their hinges. It was a graveyard of human entertainment. Backing his rusted trailer-less frame through the large loading bay doors at the rear, he shut off his engine. Darkness swallowed him. Inside his processor, emergency alerts flashed. His energon levels were dangerously low. He needed to enter stasis lock to survive, to hide his signature completely from the orbital grids. He closed his optics, letting his systems drift into a deep, silent sleep. Suddenly, a sharp spike of static jolted his internal receiver. It wasn't a standard Autobot frequency. It wasn't even human. A cold, mechanical voice broadcasted directly into his sleeping mind, chilling him to his very core. "I have found your trail, Prime. There is nowhere on this pathetic planet you can hide from me."

Chapter 2: The Runaways and the Rusty Cab