Diego Garcia.
After several years of steady construction, the island outpost had transformed, though the changes were hidden beneath the surface.
Above ground, the military installation looked much as it always had—somewhat worn down by salt air and tropical storms. Below the surface, however, an extensive network of reinforced subterranean corridors and hangars now served as the Autobots' primary base of operations.
On this day, Optimus Prime returned from another covert mission.
Any task requiring Autobot intervention was never a minor affair. They were often assignments where the government preferred to keep its own direct involvement off the public record.
This operation had been no exception: intercepting a covert arms shipment moving through a volatile border sector.
Standard arms trafficking rarely drew this level of response. Yet this specific shipment had contained enriched nuclear material, tracing directly back to the illegal processing facility the Autobots had leveled days earlier.
Allowing weapons-grade material to circulate through unmonitored channels was a risk the human authorities were unwilling to take.
The operation had taken less than two days to complete. In remote regions with minimal infrastructure, human insurgent cells relying on vintage small arms posed no real threat to armored Autobot frames.
Hum—
Having resolved the threat without civilian exposure, Optimus Prime pulled into the Diego Garcia complex, his engine idling down smoothly.
Before he could proceed to the subterranean lift, Wheeljack stepped out from an adjoining maintenance bay, waving a hand to catch his attention.
"Optimus! Lennox is here. He asked to see you as soon as you returned."
Though the Autobots maintained underground quarters, they preferred working in open-air hangars whenever possible.
Wheeljack had arrived on Earth only recently. Running short on design inspiration on Cybertron, he had traveled to the planet to observe human engineering and pick up fresh ideas.
"Lennox? Where is he?" Optimus asked, coming to a halt. Even without the summons, he had planned to check in with the colonel regarding operational debriefs and logistical support.
"Right behind you, Optimus."
Optimus turned his massive helm to see a familiar figure walking toward him at a brisk pace.
It was Colonel William Lennox.
Following the formal dissolution of the NEST task force, Lennox's career had hung in the balance. Instead of being relegated to an administrative desk until retirement, however, the newly appointed administration had recognized his field experience.
He had been placed in command of the primary military detachment securing Diego Garcia, serving as the official liaison between the United States government and the Autobots.
"Optimus," Lennox began without pausing for pleasantries. His expression was taut with urgency. "We have fresh intelligence."
"What is the situation?" Optimus asked, assuming another regional dispute required intervention. "I just returned from securing the transport convoy. Roadbuster and the Wreckers are still in transit, but they can be redeployed immediately."
The Wreckers had developed a taste for front-line action and rarely turned down an assignment.
"This is different," Lennox said, reading Optimus's train of thought. "According to signals analysis, this trace isn't human. It's almost certainly Decepticon."
"Decepticons?" Optimus straightened, his optics glowing with sharp focus. "Where, Lennox?"
"In Ukraine. An isolated location." Lennox paused, glancing up at the towering frames of Optimus and Wheeljack before adjusting his wording. "A hazardous sector—at least by human standards."
"The signals are preliminary, but the signature matches Cybertronian energy output. We need a team on the ground to confirm."
"Understood," Optimus nodded, preparing to move. "I will recall the Wreckers and assemble our vanguard for immediate transport."
"Hold on, Optimus," Lennox called out, raising a hand. "I haven't finished."
"Direct orders from command. Since the intelligence originated through our national channels, the joint chiefs require our strike team to deploy alongside you."
Seeing Optimus hesitate, Lennox spoke quickly to ease his concerns. "They want joint oversight on an operation inside Ukraine. Command is cautious about unmonitored alien deployments in that region."
Lennox put it mildly. In truth, top brass in Washington were terrified of another high-casualty catastrophe like the battle in Egypt.
"Optimus, trust me on this," Lennox added. "The data on this location is exceptionally solid. My unit will follow your tactical lead in the field."
The target lay within a heavily restricted exclusion zone. While local authorities were eager to cooperate with Western military personnel, securing clearance required official human channels on the ground.
"Very well, Lennox. We move together."
Optimus trusted Lennox's field judgment. While human infantry lacked the physical resilience to face Decepticon warriors directly, working within a joint protocol avoided diplomatic friction.
A quiet reconnaissance mission could not afford excess noise. If the Decepticons caught wind of an approaching strike team, the target would vanish into the shadows once again.
Ukraine, Vyshhorod Monitoring Station.
"My name is Voshkod. Over a year ago, an American named Dylan Gould approached me..."
"Three days ago, his associates instructed me to..."
"If I do not survive, whoever recovers this journal must deliver it to..."
"...Recorded within are the detailed logs of my interactions with Dylan Gould, along with the names of the individuals he introduced to our facility..."
Inside a quiet administrative office at the edge of the exclusion zone, a hollow-cheeked official bent over his desk, writing frantically into a leather-bound notebook.
Knock, knock, knock.
A sudden rap on the door startled him. Voshkod snapped the notebook shut, steadying his breathing before calling out, "Enter."
"Sir, the inspection team has arrived at the front gate," a guard in a heavy military greatcoat reported, stepping inside.
"Understood," Voshkod said, his fingers tightening against the desk. He waved a dismissive hand. "Have Yelenna receive them in the lobby. I will be down in a moment."
"Yes, sir."
Once the guard closed the door, Voshkod slid the notebook into his top desk drawer, turned the brass key with a sharp click, and slipped the key into his coat pocket.
Satisfied that the record was secure, he turned off his desk lamp and left the office.
Moments later, the office window shifted slightly on its hinges. A narrow gap opened in the frame, and a sleek, metallic bird slipped through the opening without a sound.
Laserbeak glided down onto the desk, his claws picking the brass lock in seconds before snatching up the journal.
"Lord Skygnaw called it," the mechanical bird rasped softly, his optics flashing red as he secured the prize. "Only an amateur writes down his crimes. Fools like this never learn."
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