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mjonthetrack · 22 days ago

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catalyst

Catalyst — Page 32

Interior – Bunker | Late Afternoon

The bunker door creaked shut behind Andrea as she strolled in, cool as ever, flipping open a protein bar like she didn’t just emotionally detonate a 260 lb Samoan man with one cheek kiss.

Optimus stood near the center of the room, tall, still, gaze locked on the scene outside. He’d seen it. All of it.

The others turned when Sefa walked in after her — cheeks still a little pink, lips tight, trying to pretend he was unbothered. He was very much bothered.

“Ayo,” Jimmy said, eyes narrowing immediately. “What was that outside?”

Zilla leaned in with a sharp grin. “You out here cheesin’ like you just got a room key, bro.”

Jacob chuckled from the side, arms crossed. “Man got kissed on the cheek and forgot how to walk straight.”

“Y’all need to shut the hell up,” Sefa muttered, trying to keep a straight face, but the color creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Bee beeped quietly from the far corner, a low series of boop-beep-boop that had Jimmy wheezing.

“Even Bee roasting you,” Jimmy snorted, wiping tears from his eyes. “Bee said you acted like she climbed into your bunk when all she did was bless you with some light skin contact.”

Zilla hollered. “ONE kiss to the cheek and bruh out here rethinking his last name—‘Carter-Fatu’ headass.”

In the middle of the laughter, Optimus turned slowly, voice deep and calm.

“Human bonding can be… intense. But I would caution against premature attachment.”

Andrea, who had just walked by with her protein bar mid-bite, blinked once and gave him a thumbs up without stopping.

“Duly noted, Optimus. I’m still not feeding any of y’all,” she said, chewing casually as she walked past, barefoot in Sefa’s shorts and one of his t-shirts like this wasn’t chaos around her.

The room erupted again. Zilla damn near fell off the bench. Jimmy was clutching his chest. Jacob laughed so hard he walked away.

Sefa stood there, face buried in his hands.

“I hate all of you,” he muttered.

Bee played You Got It Bad by Usher low in the background.

Catalyst — Page 33

Interior – Bunker | Back Quarters | Moments Later

Andrea had made it halfway down the hallway, protein bar still in hand, hair wild, shirt slightly oversized, and completely committed to ignoring the testosterone festival going on behind her.

Then the ground vibrated. The air shifted. And a giant shadow loomed over her.

“Don’t even think about it,” she muttered, not turning around.

Too late.

Optimus’s hand descended with gentle but absolute precision, scooping her up like she was nothing more than a mildly annoyed purse dog. She didn’t flinch—just blinked slowly as she was lifted off the ground like a toddler mid tantrum.

He walked with her tucked in his hand toward the back of the bunker, away from the others, who all went dead silentwatching their leader basically yoink the only Black woman in a five-mile radius like a cosmic timeout was happening.

“So you just got a thing for kidnapping, huh?” Andrea deadpanned, staring up at his massive chrome face like this was the third Uber she didn’t ask for this week. “First the Porsche, now me.”

Optimus’s optics whirred, glowing softly as he finally stopped and crouched, bringing her closer to his faceplate.

“I intended no harm,” he said, voice deep, steady, oddly warm. “But you and I… we are connected. I knew it the moment your energy touched my systems.”

Andrea squinted at him. “Sir, what the hell are you talking about? I'm a biotech engineer, not a crystal-wearing moon bather.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Your touch restored me. That has never happened before,” he said simply.

She stared up at him, crossed her arms, and tilted her head like she was trying to decide if this was a prank.

“…You got WiFi or something in your circuits that glitched when I grabbed your busted-ass steering wheel?”

Optimus leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing—not in anger, but intent.

“You are more than you appear. And whether you wish to be or not… you are now a part of this.”

Andrea let out a long, exhausted sigh and looked away, muttering mostly to herself.

“Of course I am. Because that’s exactly what I needed—an intergalactic midlife crisis.”

Catalyst — Page 34

Interior – Bunker | Back Quarters | Still in Optimus’s Hand

Andrea sat cross-legged in the massive, open palm of a literal alien war general like it was a therapy session she didn’t ask for. Arms folded, red bottoms long since ditched, oversized shirt swallowing her whole—but that glare? 100% locked in.

She rolled her eyes hard, sighing.

“There are so many sisters in the state of California,” she snapped, “And you just had to go and pluck me up? Like… be so for real, Optimus.”

She jabbed a thumb toward her chest.

“Why me? What are you? What even is all this? Why am I here? And why the hell are you so damn attached to me?”

Optimus didn’t flinch. His expression didn’t change, but the energy around him shifted, deeper, more serious.

“I do not have answers you will find satisfying,” he said, voice calm and thunderous all at once. “But I will not lie to you.”

His optics glowed as he looked directly at her.

“I am Optimus Prime, last of the Primes, leader of the Autobots. I was forged for war, rebuilt through loss, and returned to this world after a long silence… because I sensed you.”

Andrea blinked. “Sensed me? That’s weird. That’s stalker behavior.”

He ignored that.

“Your touch reawakened dormant circuits. Energy I believed gone—restored. That is no accident.”

Andrea made a face like she was about to start taking notes for a Yelp review titled “Kidnapped by a Sentient Gas Guzzler.”

“So what? I’m your... cosmic jumper cable?”

Optimus tilted his head, as if considering.

“Or the missing link,” he said simply. “Whatever the case, our connection is real. And you are not here by chance.”

Andrea stared at him in total silence for three full seconds, then slowly lifted both hands to gesture wildly at her surroundings.

“Bro. I was at work. I was in heels. I had a damn matcha latte.”

She pointed up at him like she was about to fight.

“And now I’m living in a sci-fi prequel where y’all don’t even flush toilets! This ain’t destiny, it’s a lawsuit!”

Optimus didn’t move, didn’t interrupt—just let her rant.

Because even he knew: she had a point.

Catalyst — Page 35

Interior – Bunker | Back Quarters | Andrea Still in Optimus’s Hand

Andrea shifted slightly, getting more comfortable like this was about to be a full TED Talk from the palm of a metal messiah.

She folded her arms over her chest, brows high, voice sharp.

“Optimus.”

Beat.

“You’re telling me that I’m somehow cosmically linked to whatever kind of giant space robot you are… and that alone justifies me being here? Just vibing in an abandoned bunker with six sentient Chevys and five Samoan men who all look like they bench press buildings for fun?”

Her tone was dead serious. Her face? So unimpressed.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sir,” she continued, holding up a hand like she was listing receipts, “but we are notexactly a good match.”

She pointed toward the front of the bunker.

“Jazz and Jimmy? That makes sense. Both loud, flashy, got that smooth operator energy. They're in sync.”

Finger two.

“Sefa and Bee? Adorable. Golden retriever human and golden retriever robot. Soulmates. Makes perfect sense.”

Finger three.

“Jey and his big grumpy machine? Yeah. Makes sense. That man was born to brood in black t-shirts and fix shit while mean-mugging the sun.”

She paused, arms crossing tighter as she stared up at the leader of the Autobots.

“Me? I was in red bottoms. I run a biotech company. I like luxury, silence, espresso, and skincare routines. You—”she motioned dramatically to all of him, “—threw my new Porsche into a field and kidnapped me in the middle of a weekday.”

Silence.

Optimus was still. Not offended. Not defensive. Just… listening.

“So tell me, Optimus.” She tilted her head. “Where do we make sense?”

Catalyst — Page 36

Interior – Bunker | Back Quarters | Optimus Still Holding Andrea

She waited. Arms crossed. Attitude loaded like a Glock. Daring him to try and explain why her, of all people.

And then—

“Because you are not like the others,” Optimus said simply.

His voice was calm, resonant, like an ocean that had seen too many storms. His optics dimmed, shifting slightly as if recalling something distant.

“You question everything. Even fate.”

Andrea blinked, caught off guard but trying not to show it.

“You see chaos and refuse to let it define you. You met me—something unimaginable—and didn’t run screaming. You stood your ground. You cursed me out. You threw your heels off to fight me.”

Her lips parted but she didn’t speak.

“You adapt,” he continued, gently tilting his hand as if to offer her steadier footing. “You don’t follow. You confront.That is rare. Even among your kind.”

Andrea didn’t move. Her arms stayed crossed, but her brows twitched slightly. She wasn’t ready for that to… land.

Optimus paused before finishing.

“You are exactly who you need to be to survive what is coming.” His gaze held hers. “And I do not need you to be like the others. I only need you to be you.”

A long, heavy silence followed.

Andrea looked away first. Lips pressing together. Her throat worked like she swallowed down a comment that tried to crawl out.

Eventually she whispered, “…I still want my Porsche back.”

Optimus’s optics blinked once—slow, deliberate.

“Noted.”

Catalyst — Page 37

Interior – Bunker | Back Quarters | Andrea Still in Optimus’s Palm

Andrea exhaled sharply through her nose, giving him a sideways glance. She still hadn’t moved out his hand, but her arms had unfolded just enough to cross at the wrist now. Which meant he was slowly wearing her down.

Very slowly.

“Just so you know,” she started, pointing at him with the piece of granola bar she’d forgotten she was holding, “a semi isn’t really feasible for my day-to-day life.”

She gestured at all of him now, fully committing to the read.

“Like, what you think I’m supposed to do? Pull up to board meetings in a diesel engine while you take up ten spaces and a loading dock?”

Optimus didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to. She just kept going.

“You need some serious aesthetic upgrades,” she added with a squint. “You got ‘cross-country hauling’ energy when I need matte black G-Wagon meets Wakandan tech.”

She popped a piece of granola in her mouth and pointed again.

“If you can transform into something more... bad Black woman-coded—then maybe I’ll let you take me for a drive.”

A very slow, deliberate mechanical hum stirred in Optimus’s chest. It wasn’t a laugh, not exactly. But it felt like amusement.

“I will take that under advisement.”

Andrea blinked. “Mmhmm. You better.”

And then, under her breath, muttered—

“Dragging me out of a dealership in broad daylight lookin’ like a rig from a 1998 horror movie. Disrespectful.”

Catalyst — Page 38

Exterior – Bunker Lot | Morning Light Breaking Through the Valley Mist

Optimus’s hand slowly tilted, and Andrea slid down with the grace of a woman who wasn’t phased anymore. Not by ten-foot-tall alien machines. Not by reality cracking open. Not even by a missing Benz truck and a crushed Porsche.

She stood with a raised brow, still clutching what was left of her granola bar like it owed her money.

“Alright then. Let’s see what you got, big guy.”

Optimus didn’t say a word. But the subtle shift in the ground beneath her was enough of a signal.

Hydraulics hissed. Gears turned. And then, with a seamless metallic groan, Optimus transformed before her—his form changing from old semi-truck vibes to something sleeker, tougher, cleaner.

A matte black pickup truck with smoked windows, LED trim, and sleek gunmetal rims sat gleaming in front of her. The kind of vehicle that could still tow a tank but looked like it cost six figures and came with a custom playlist.

Andrea blinked.

Then gave a slow, approving hum. “Mmm. I guess it’ll work.”

She walked around to the driver’s side like she owned it, let the door open for her, and slid in—one leg crossed over the other, nails tapping on the steering wheel like it was her throne.

“C’mon then, Prime,” she said, cocking her head and settling back into the plush seats. “Take me for a spin. And let’s stop somewhere—I need parts, polish, and maybe a decent cup of coffee if I’m stuck with you.”

The engine rumbled in agreement—deep, smooth, and definitely smug.

They peeled off a second later, kicking up gravel as the sleek new form of Optimus Prime rolled into town… chauffeuring a very demanding, very amused Black woman in an oversized T-shirt, designer purse, and a mouth that didn’t know peace.

Catalyst — Page 39

Exterior – Bunker | Later That Day | Everyone Outside Chilling or Working on Repairs

Sefa was mid squat rep when the deep, smooth purr of a luxury-grade engine echoed across the valley. Jimmy stood from under Jazz’s hood. Jey paused wiping sweat from his brow. Ratchet glanced up. Even Ironhide froze mid diagnostics.

Zilla peeked from the side of the garage, squinting at the black pickup tearing through gravel like it owned the place.

“Yo… that’s not Prime—”

“Is it?” Jimmy cut in, watching as the matte black truck rolled up like it was pulling in for a music video cameo.

The doors popped open and there she was.

Andrea Carter.

All soft curls, attitude, and stretched-out Nike shorts as she hopped out casually—like this hadn’t been a week of chaos and sci-fi trauma. She adjusted her purse strap, squinted up at the truck with a smirk, and tossed over her shoulder—

“You can park right there, big man.”

The truck hissed. Clicked. Shifted. And before their very eyes, Optimus Prime revealed himself.

But not as they remembered.

This wasn’t the beat-up hauler they’d side-eyed just days ago. He was standing tall, sleek, fresh polished finish reflecting the sun like a damn showroom ad. He looked reborn.

And Andrea?

Homegirl reached up like she had any business doing so, her small hand wrapping around the tip of his massive pointer finger for balance like they were walking buddies.

The Fatu men watched in stunned silence as she walked ahead of the Autobot commander like it was her guard dog, not the ancient war machine of the universe.

She didn’t even glance at the others. Just headed toward the open space near the center of the bunker, dropped her bag down, and plopped herself comfortably on the floor.

Then—with intention—she patted the ground beside her.

“C’mon, Optimus. Don’t be shy.”

Silence.

Then the heavy, thunderous sound of Optimus Prime actually kneeling beside her like some kind of celestial statue summoned into storytime.

Zilla’s jaw dropped. Jimmy choked on air. Ratchet said a muffled, “Well I’ll be damned.”

And Sefa?

He blinked once. Then twice.

“…That man turned himself into a hot pickup truck for her.”

Catalyst — Page 40

Interior – Bunker | Midday | Everyone Slowly Circling the Two Like Nosy Aunties

They couldn’t help it. One by one, the men and bots alike drifted in closer—like moths to the absolute insanity of watching Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside one Black woman in Nike shorts and attitude.

Sefa crossed his arms. Jimmy leaned on Jazz’s leg. Zilla mouthed “what the fuck” to no one in particular.

Ratchet, with his usual no-nonsense tone, muttered, “I’m sorry, are we not going to address the fact he let her drive?”

Andrea didn’t even flinch. She unwrapped a breakfast bar she’d stolen from someone’s stash and bit into it, eyes half-lidded and unbothered as the chaos built around her.

Then Jey—who was never one to let things slide—spoke up from the side, arms folded as he looked between her and the giant mech parked on the floor.

“…So y’all besties now?”

Andrea paused mid chew.

Didn’t even blink.

She slowly turned her head, still chewing like the most patient villain in a YA fantasy movie.

“Optimus,” she said flatly, “what do we say when people ask dumb questions?”

Without hesitation—without even looking at her—Optimus responded with that deep, iconic gravel in his voice:

“We do not entertain foolishness.”

Sefa howled. Jimmy doubled over laughing. Jazz played a sound byte of an old man cackling. Ironhide coughed so hard it glitched his voice box.

Andrea wiped her hands on her shorts like nothing happened and casually leaned back on her palms, nodding.

“Exactly.”

Catalyst — Page 41

Interior – Bunker | The Gaggle of Nosy Men + Giant Alien Robots Form a Circle of Confusion™

“Okay, but seriously,” Sefa said, still half-laughing but eyes squinting suspiciously, “how did this happen?”

He pointed a finger dramatically between Andrea, currently lounging like a rich auntie at a garden party, and the literal intergalactic war general who looked suspiciously relaxed beside her.

Jimmy chimed in, “You got Prime in dad-mode.”

“Nah,” Zilla added, arms crossed, “you got Prime in simp mode.”

Optimus didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just stared ahead calmly like he wasn’t being judged by five sweaty Polynesian men and a handful of sentient robots.

Andrea?

She popped the top off a can of imported, high-performance motor oil that probably cost more than Sefa’s entire tool chest.

Without fanfare, she bent the neck of a pink bendy straw, jammed it in the can like it was juice, and held it up toward the massive mech beside her.

Optimus leaned forward slightly.

Slurp.

Dead silence.

Andrea pulled out a Sprite from her Birkin, popped that too, inserted a matching straw, and gave it a shake before sipping.

Then she leaned forward and gently patted Optimus’s chest plate twice, the same way a kindergarten teacher reassures a nervous student.

“You don’t have to answer that, Opti.”

Bee blurted out a soft boop of sound that translated as damn right, and even Ratchet looked away before his systems overheated from secondhand embarrassment.

Andrea sipped her soda. Optimus sipped his oil.

The rest of the group just stared like they were watching the end of the world happen in casual, beverage-sharing slow motion.

Catalyst — Page 42

Interior – Bunker | Five Fatu Men & Five Autobots Deep in Existential Crisis Watching One Woman Treat Prime Like a Porsche at a Car Wash

Jimmy squinted.

Real hard.

Then blinked.

“…Did she just call him—”

“Opti,” Jey muttered slowly, brows drawn together.

Zilla leaned forward from behind Ironhide’s arm, staring like he couldn’t believe his optics.

“OPT. TI.”

“I’m tryna figure out why he ain’t corrected her yet,” Ratchet said, visibly disturbed like his whole programming just glitched.

Because sure, they all had relationships with their bots. Zilla had his chaos with Sideswipe, Jimmy and Jazz were like cousins who roasted each other daily, Sefa and Bee were basically platonic soulmates. But nobody—and they meant nobody—spoke to Optimus Prime like that.

No one gave him nicknames.

No one patted his chest plate.

And definitely no one treated him like a damn spa day project.

Except Andrea Carter.

Who, at that very moment, had pulled out a plush pink microfiber towel from her never-ending designer tote and was humming softly as she buffed out a scratch on Optimus’s chrome.

“You had some grime right here, big guy.” She said casually, standing on the tips of her toes to reach, her tone the same one she probably used to check interns at Andromeda Labs.

“Thanks,” Prime said calmly.

CALMLY.

Like he didn’t just get nicknamed, pampered, and wiped down like a well-loved Cadillac.

Bee gave a soft boop-boop of pure amusement, head tilting.

Sefa stared between his bot and Optimus, voice low.

“So like… when did that shift happen?”

Jey just shook his head slowly.

“I feel like I missed a whole movie.”

Zilla nodded, wide-eyed.

“Nah, we skipped seasons. She speed ran the whole character arc and unlocked Prime’s domesticated DLC.”

Andrea paused in her polishing, adjusted her sunglasses on her head, and gave them all a once-over.

“Y’all good?”

She tucked the towel back into her bag like she hadn’t just short-circuited the entire chain of command.

Optimus simply straightened his posture behind her, standing taller like he just got detailed at the Autobots’ version of a day spa.

The Fatu men and their bots didn’t say anything.

They just…watched.

Catalyst — Page 43

Interior – Bunker | All Logic Has Left the Building | Andrea Carter, Reigning Supreme

Zilla couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ain’t no way,” he muttered, looking from Optimus—still standing tall, chest freshly polished—to Bee, who was currently doing the Cybertronian equivalent of purring.

Jimmy threw his hands up, “Did she just—kiss him?”

Jey frowned, “I don’t even think Jazz would let me breathe on him without playing the ‘back up off me’ clip.”

Ironhide made a deep rumble of offense from across the bunker. Ratchet didn’t even move—he was too busy pretending he hadn’t just witnessed Optimus Prime accept a towel spa treatment and now this level of sugar sweet domestic affection.

Andrea?

Unbothered.

She swayed a little as she walked right over to Optimus again, hips shifting with ease, and leaned casually against one of his legs like he was her favorite bodyguard-slash-bench.

“Y’all are just salty,” she said, smirking over her shoulder, “because you don’t have cute nicknames for your bots.”

There was absolute scorn in the air.

Then she moved again, this time toward Bee—who happily lowered himself so she could reach him without effort—and she gently stroked the top of his head.

“Except you, my good little bumbly bee boy,” she cooed with her softest baby voice. Then she kissed the side of his metal head, patted him like a dog, and turned back to the room all smiles like she hadn’t just rewired everyone’s expectations of reality.

Bee booped softly.

Zilla squinted at Sideswipe like, “you want a nickname? I can try.”

Sideswipe blurted a warning pulse that read: “Don’t you dare.”

Jimmy looked at Jazz. Jazz just tilted his head and played “Don’t Touch My Radio” by Luda. Jimmy put his hands up in surrender.

Sefa though?

He was grinning, full teeth, arms crossed.

Because while Andrea was busy baby-talking to Bee and out-sassing the room, he’d caught it—the way Prime angled himself slightly to shield her, the way Bee nearly fluttered his side panels, the way even Ratchet kept stealing glances like he wasn’t lowkey impressed.

Andrea Carter had walked into their lives like a storm.

And now she had the most powerful being in the galaxy getting called “Opti” and sipping oil through straws.

Catalyst — Page 44

Interior – Bunker | Intergalactic War Heroes Get Nicknamed Like It’s Kindergarten

Andrea didn’t even blink.

Didn’t waver.

She just stood in the middle of the chaos with all the delusion of a woman who had nothing to lose and a Birkin full of audacity.

She raised a finger.

Pointed directly at Optimus first—like that wasn’t Optimus Prime, like she wasn’t assigning a casual pet name to the leader of the Autobots, protector of worlds, and man-sized chrome philosopher.

“My big guy is Opti.” She even popped the “i” a little at the end like it was cute. And it was cute. That was the problem.

Optimus? Didn’t say a word. Didn’t correct her. Just stood a little taller like the name felt… right.

Bee let out an excited trill like he knew what was coming.

Andrea smiled and pointed next, finger aimed squarely at the yellow Camaro sitting gleaming in the sun.

“The golden retriever’s bot is my favorite little Bumble Boy.”

Sefa perked up slightly, proud but trying to hide it. Bee lit up. Literally. A soft glow hit his panels and he chirped like she just knighted him with affection.

Then she turned.

Pointed right at Ironhide.

“You’re Grumpy. Straight up. No notes.”

Ironhide growled. A deep rattle in his chest like a diesel engine about to snap. “I am not—”

“Grumpy,” she said again, louder, smiling at him with a kind but firm voice like she was a daycare teacher labeling the seven dwarves. “Own it, king.”

Next.

She pivoted clean toward Ratchet.

“You’re Mr. Fix It. Because that’s clearly your job, and also because you scanned me like I was an overheating toaster yesterday, and I have not forgotten.”

Ratchet looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he sighed. A long, tired “why do I get stuck with these people” kind of sigh. He did not correct her.

Andrea turned again.

Her hand rose and aimed right at Sideswipe, who had just stepped out from the shadows with that trademark cocky smirk and glint in his optics.

“You? You’re Swiper.”

“Swiper?” He tilted his head, confused.

She grinned. “Yeah. You look like you steal everything, especially peace and quiet.”

“Swiper no swipin’,” Bee played helpfully.

The room died.

Finally, her hand swung to the side where Jazz leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, visor gleaming.

She narrowed her eyes. Then pointed.

“You are Space Unc. Or JazzyJazz, depending on the vibe.”

Jazz didn’t flinch. He simply nodded once and replied in the smoothest voice this side of the galaxy:

“I can rock with that, baby girl.”

Andrea turned back to the others and clapped her hands once.

“There. See? Order. Harmony. Identity. You’re welcome.”

The bots said nothing. Some shifted. Bee beeped proudly.

The men?

Sefa looked like he just fell a little deeper in love. Jey, Jimmy, Jacob, and Zilla stood in stunned silence.

Zilla muttered, “She really just renamed a goddamn pantheon.”

Jimmy, deadpan: “And they let her.”

Catalyst — Page 45

Interior – Fatu Bunker | The Disrespect Is Loud and So Is Her Grip Strength

Andrea let out a huff as she marched over to one side of the bunker, big attitude and bare feet slapping against concrete. Her nails were freshly done, her hair up in a messy bun that still somehow screamed “I run a company and a planet.”

Behind her, the boys were still grumbling in a collective mutter while their bots silently reveled in their new identities.

Zilla, arms crossed: “Swiper is a cartoon fox, bro.”

Sideswipe: “Yeah… and?” He popped his door wing smugly.

Ratchet muttered, “Mr. Fix It. I’m a doctor. I have multiple degrees.”

Bee was too busy vibing to his nickname remix. Jazz? Jazz was full-on grooving in the corner like he just accepted his Uncle status.

Meanwhile, Andrea was yanking on a tarp that clearly covered something large and heavy.

“C’mon, space boys,” she grunted, dragging the edge with her whole back into it. “I got you more imported oil. Real quality stuff, none of that AutoZone grape seed trash these broke boys keep in the bunker.”

Jimmy nearly choked. “EXCUSE ME?”

Jacob lifted a brow, offended. “We just risked life and freedom breaking y’all out.”

“And you gave them Motor Mile oil changes, huh?” she shot back, not looking their way, still yanking the tarp. “Shameful. Grown men feeding billion-dollar robots off-brand energy drinks in a bottle.”

Bee beeped in delight.

Optimus straightened from where he’d been sitting quietly, optics blinking slowly at the display.

Sefa leaned close to Jey, whispering, “I think she got it from a dealership out in Beverly Hills—”

“Don’t help her,” Jey growled.

The tarp finally slid free with a dramatic FLUMP, revealing three massive drums of imported Cybertron-compatible lubricant oil with stylized packaging. It looked expensive. And glowed faintly. Like it was luxury grade energy.

Andrea stepped back, hands on her hips like she just gifted the world.

“Y’all can thank me later.” She turned back and winked.

Bee did a full happy dance. Literally shuffled his wheels in place. Ratchet squinted like he wasn’t touched. Ironhide grunted but didn’t say no.

Jazz gave a slow nod.

Optimus? He dipped his head.

“You are… unusually generous.”

She shrugged, already heading back to her seat. “Nah. I just like feeding people. Especially when the people are multi-ton war weapons that act like emotionally repressed cats.”

Jimmy pointed at her from across the bunker. “You still ain’t give us nicknames though.”

Andrea paused mid-walk, turned her head slowly.

“I thought y’all could handle the disrespect.”

Zilla: “I can’t. I really can’t.”

Sefa just smiled to himself.

He liked being nameless if it meant she was the one calling his name later.

Catalyst — Page 46

Interior – Bunker | Soft Science Babygirl Era Unlocked

Bee had inched closer. Not too close. Just enough that the top of his hood tilted toward her, his optics glancing between her and the glowing drum of imported glow juice like he was asking for a treat without saying it.

Andrea clocked him instantly. That soft smile hit her lips. A real one.

“Bumble boy,” she said gently, “you don’t have to ask. You’re my friend.”

Bee let out a happy trill that sounded suspiciously like Usher ad-libs and immediately started lowkey vibing like he’d just been told he could have a whole tray of snacks before dinner.

Andrea turned back toward the rest of them—Autobots and Fatu men alike.

She clapped her hands together, dusting them off, then smoothed her hair back casually.

“It’s imported ingredients,” she began, “but I made it.”

She walked over and lifted a heavy metal briefcase she’d stashed under one of the tarps—sleek, matte black, clearly expensive. She opened it with a snap, revealing shiny slabs of some unfamiliar chrome-plated tech glowing with faint blue pulses.

“I also brought some of my things back here from me and Opti’s little ride yesterday. Gonna run a few diagnostics and see if they take to my self-generating energizing plates. If they do, they won’t need fuel for months, could even reprocess solar conversion in low-light zones—”

The bots were already interested. Ratchet blinked. Jazz tilted his head like a curious uncle. Optimus watched her with deep, thoughtful focus.

The Fatu men? Yeah, they all blinked.

Zilla muttered, “Bruh, what?”

Jimmy scratched his head. “Is that English?”

Andrea rolled her eyes hard enough to rotate her soul.

She exhaled dramatically. Then pointed at her chest.

“Smart lady.” She pointed at the bots.

“Make big bots strong.”

She clapped her hands together. “Any questions?”

Sefa raised his hand slightly. “So like… robot vitamins?”

Andrea paused.

Then nodded slowly, very seriously.

“Yes. Multivitamin, protein shake, and BBL package in one.”

Bee honked laughing. Jazz actually doubled over. Ratchet straight up walked away like she was giving him a digital migraine. Jey? Turned and walked off mid-conversation.

Optimus? He simply said: “Efficiently communicated.”

Andrea popped a little bow.

“Thank you, Opti.”

Sefa tried not to melt.

She was smart. Brilliant. And somehow, still… herself. No code-switching. No apologies.

Just Andrea.

And she was making magic.

Catalyst — Page 47

Interior – Bunker | 3:06 A.M. | When Everyone’s Asleep but the Real Ones

The bunker was quiet.

Not the usual eerie kind—but a hum-soft, steady-snooze kind. The Fatu men were scattered between rooms and cots, finally passed out. Some of the bots were low-power mode, recharging, optics dimmed but still faintly glowing like stars tucked into shadows.

Except for two.

Andrea and Bumblebee.

In a tucked-away corner of the bunker-turned-lab setup, Andrea crouched under soft lighting, her oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, goggles perched on top of her curls. Her eyes were focused and shining as she made the final micro-adjustment to the bio-structured vocal grid inside Bee’s plating.

He sat still as stone.

She patted his chest plate gently, then tilted her head back to look all the way up at him, her voice no louder than a whisper, careful not to wake the others.

“Okay,” she breathed, her face lit with the kind of excitement that made her look sixteen again. “You’re all set, bumble boy.”

She stood back, biting her lip, hands curled in anticipation.

“Go ahead, Bee,” she whispered, her grin blooming. “Try.”

For a moment… silence.

Then—something soft crackled inside his frame.

Bee straightened slightly, optics flickering. The mechanics shifted under his metal, adjusting with careful precision as her implant—organic, living tech—synced with his core systems.

A moment passed.

Then—

“Andrea.”

Her name.

Clear. Soft. Slightly glitched—but his voice. Not a soundboard. Not a radio splice. Just… him.

Andrea gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Bee's optics widened like he couldn’t believe it either. He blinked twice and then said again—slightly stronger:

“Andrea.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

She let out a choked laugh and whispered back, teary-eyed but smiling from ear to ear:

“You talked. You really talked, Bee!”

Bee tilted his head, the sound of a soft mechanical whirr behind his movement, like he was trying not to overload with emotion. His voice crackled again, a little stronger now:

“You… fixed me.”

Andrea stepped forward, resting her palm against his chest plate with a gentle pat, shaking her head.

“Nah. You weren’t broken. You just needed someone to listen long enough to figure out how you worked.”

Bee didn’t move.

Didn’t say anything for a second.

Then he knelt, slowly, carefully—so they were almost eye level.

“Thank you.”

Andrea’s nose wrinkled like she was about to cry and laugh at the same time.

She rubbed his cheek plating.

“Took me two weeks and half my sleep schedule, but you’re welcome, bumble boy.”

His engines gave a little purr of appreciation.

And as they sat there, quiet and tucked away in a glowing corner of the bunker, it was clear—

They weren’t just girl and bot anymore.

They were family now.

Catalyst — Page 48

Interior – Bunker | Still the Middle of the Night | Plotting Era Unlocked

Bee let out a soft mechanical hum, his optics soft, dimmed but still glinting as Andrea smiled up at him with her signature sleepy grin and those overworked eyes.

She stepped in close and hugged his head.

Arms barely able to reach around the sides, but still, she squeezed like it mattered.

And it did.

“I’m so happy for you, Bee,” she whispered against the warm metal of his cheek plating, eyes squeezing shut.

“You have a good heart… you deserve to be happy too.”

Bee didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

The way he melted slightly into her hug, the way his vents slowed, the way his body tilted just enough to protectively circle her in his space—it said everything.

Andrea smiled again, sleepy but victorious, like the whole world just got a little softer.

She pulled back, reaching up to boop him between the optics with one finger.

“Now,” she whispered, eyes glinting with mischief, “we gotta act normal in the morning, alright?”

Bee tilted his head like a confused dog.

Andrea nodded, very seriously.

“Like real normal. I’m talking mute. All radio. We’re gaslighting them a little, okay?”

Bee beeped softly, then gave the slightest mechanical giggle.

Andrea grinned.

“Then you hit 'em with it. Drop the surprise. Just casually start talking like it’s nothing.”

She twirled a screwdriver between her fingers before tossing it into her open toolbox.

“You gotta serve drama, Bee. Build the suspense.”

Bee gave a soft series of playful beeps, then added—quiet but so warm:

“Yes, ma’am.”

Andrea blinked. Then smiled wide.

“Oooh you’re gonna be dangerous now.”

She started to shuffle off to her little sleep nook with her purse as a pillow again, then paused halfway.

“Also,” she yawned, stretching her arms above her head, “if you record their reactions, I absolutely want copies.”

Bee gave a firm, gleeful ding like a microwave saying “say less.”

Andrea gave a final sleepy thumbs up.

“Goodnight, Bumble boy.”

“Goodnight, Andrea.”

Catalyst — Page 49

Interior – Bunker | Morning | A Voice Returned

The bunker stirred awake slowly.

Boots hit the floor. Jey grumbled something about needing coffee before he could form full sentences. Jimmy was already half-dressed, pulling a shirt on as he passed through the hallway. Zilla cracked his neck like he’d slept on gravel. Jacob hummed while brushing his beard in the mirror.

Sefa?

He was in the garage already.

Pacing around the Camaro, watching Andrea curled on a makeshift couch near the bots’ recharging zone. She looked peaceful. Finally. The shadows under her eyes were a little lighter. Her curls a little messier. One of his hoodies was draped over her shoulders like Bee had tucked her in himself.

He couldn’t help the soft smile.

Bee sat near her, still and steady, optics gently flickering as his systems rebooted for the day. But Sefa caught it—something new in him. A charge. A calm. A completion.

Andrea stirred, her eyes blinking open.

She yawned.

Bee made a soft beep like good morning.

Andrea smiled sleepily and patted his leg.

Then she stood, stretching, rubbing her arms and walking over to Sefa with her usual attitude-in-silk tone.

“You still owe me breakfast, Fatu.”

Sefa grinned.

“I brought muffins. And those expensive-ass green drinks you like.”

Andrea blinked. “You remembered.”

Before he could say something stupid like I remember everything about you, Bee’s engine rumbled to life behind them. Andrea turned just in time to watch him gently stretch up—shoulders rolling, frame adjusting.

Then…

A pause.

The others started trickling in.

Jimmy with Jazz, Ratchet hovering behind Jacob, Ironhide clunking in behind Jey. Sideswipe leaning like he was mid-model walk.

They all did double takes.

Bee turned to the group, optics warm.

Andrea stood beside him.

Then he opened his mouth.

No radio. No mashups. No clips.

Just his voice.

Clear. A little rough. Like a boy whose voice had just come back after years of silence.

“Good morning.”

Every. Single. Man. Froze.

Jacob dropped his coffee.

Zilla almost choked.

Jey blinked twice like he glitched in real life.

Jimmy muttered, “What in the—”

Bee continued, soft, casual, like this was normal:

“I brought your drink, Andrea. It’s still cold.”

Andrea gave him a thumbs-up like it was nothing.

Sefa’s mouth opened and closed.

Once.

Twice.

Then—barely above a whisper:

“You can… talk.”

Bee looked at him.

“I could always feel. I just needed help finding the words again.”

His gaze turned to Andrea.

She didn’t speak. Just rubbed at her eyes and looked away like her allergies were acting up.

Sefa turned slowly toward her.

“You—”

Andrea sighed, voice light. “Don’t make it a thing.”

Bee placed a gentle hand down near Sefa.

“She gave it back to me.”

Ratchet took a slow step forward, stunned. “Impossible.”

“No,” Bee said softly. “Just… rare.”

Optimus moved at last, stepping into the light, eyes trained on his scout. For once… the stoic leader looked gentle.

“You sound like yourself, Bee.”

The yellow bot nodded.

“Feels like myself too.”

Sefa stared at Andrea like she’d grown wings.

She groaned under the attention, folding her arms, voice dry:

“Y’all gonna cry or thank me?”

Bee gave a faint smile.

“You gave me more than words, Andrea. You gave me back.”

Catalyst — Page 50

Interior – Bunker | Moments After | Echoes of a Miracle

It was dead silent.

No gears turned. No steps. No sarcastic comments from Zilla. Not even a Jimmy quip.

Just wide eyes.

And Bee, who sounded like the warmth of a memory you thought you’d lost forever.

Ratchet took a slow step forward, scanning Bee with something close to reverence.

“It shouldn’t be possible.”

Jimmy blinked, then pointed a finger at Andrea.

“What did you do to him?”

Andrea, still in Sefa’s hoodie and Nike shorts, sighed and rubbed her temples. “He asked me for help. I gave it. You’re welcome.”

Jazz tilted his helm toward her, optics squinting. “Nah, shorty, that wasn’t just help. That was some divine intervention level upgrade.”

Andrea shrugged, strolling toward her abandoned matcha bottle like she wasn’t the reason Bee just gave everyone a metaphysical gut-punch.

“It’s biotech,” she said casually, sipping, “I’ve been working on artificial vocal interface mapping for years. He was just the right puzzle to solve.”

Jey blinked hard.

“You solved Bee?”

“In one night,” Jacob muttered, stunned.

Andrea lifted a brow. “That supposed to be impressive? He sat still, communicated clearly, and trusted me. That’s more than I can say for most of the men I’ve dated.”

Bee made a sound that was definitely a laugh.

Zilla let out a low whistle. “She might actually be some sort of alien herself.”

Optimus watched in silence. His optics didn’t leave Andrea. Not once. Not as she walked back to Bee and gently fixed a panel behind his neck. Not when Bee tilted his head to nuzzle her arm in quiet gratitude.

Finally, the Prime spoke.

“You were always more than you appeared to be.”

Andrea turned to him, skeptical. “Says the chrome domed semi-truck sentient space being who threw my Benz like a damn football.”

A hum vibrated through Optimus’s chest cavity. Not quite a laugh. But close.

“I did not understand your worth then.”

Andrea sipped her matcha.

“And now?”

He stepped closer, the ground trembling gently beneath his feet.

“Now I see why the Matrix called to me when you entered that dealership.”

Jimmy blinked. “The what now?”

Jazz slapped his arm. “Shhh, that sounds biblical.”

Andrea didn’t move.