Chapter Text
Optimus held back a wince as Knockout pressed into his back, alert to the discomfort of having the former Decepticon medic aboard.
He wasn’t a fool, he knew exactly who Knockout was—too well, perhaps, for his own ease. Having the immoral mad doctor on his back so casually, without any form of restraint.
The unease pricked, but he kept his suspicion close.
The other Prime had insisted that Knockout was now aligned with the Autobots, though the medic bore no emblem to prove it. Knockout's weak attempt at acting out loyalty had only confirmed Optimus's doubts.
Still, he refrained from calling out the other Prime on this lie. If protecting Knockout was part of his plan, Optimus would allow it, though he’d stay vigilant.
Switching his comm, he sent a quiet signal:
;Wheeljack? Do you read?;
;Yuh huh, what do you need, Optimus?;
;I have an injured Cybertronian here that I need you to assess. Bring your tools and medical gear, and meet us at these coordinates.;
He quickly sent the coordinates to a relatively enclosed field beyond the base.
;Got them. I’ll meet you there.;
;Thank you Wheeljack. I will see you soon.;
Optimus allowed himself to relax at the swift confirmation.
He drove the group of bots into the aforementioned clearing where he asked his Arcee to set Knockout down on the ground.
Optimus transformed back into his root mode.
“I’ve contacted our medic to come meet us here.” Optimus said. Arcee gave a confused look before she nodded absently.
“Right. Something about your base being…untrustworthy?” She asked a little suspiciously. Sighing he looked down at her.
“We’ve had some…doubts about the integrity of G.H.O.S.T.,” Optimus explained carefully, turning his optics to Arcee. “In case any of those doubts turn true, this arrangement is…an extra precaution.”
Arcee merely muttered something to Knockout, smirking, while the medic scowled, giving a half-hearted swat back.
Thrash’s excitement was infectious as he transformed, wheels spinning slightly as he walked closer to Arcee.
“So! You’re a motorcycle too! That’s so cool!” Thrash’s voice brimmed with eagerness, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Do you have a sidecar? Oh my gosh, we should totally race! I bet I’m faster—maybe?”
Arcee looked down at the young Terran with a patient, if slightly amused, smile. She placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head. “A race, huh? Well, if Optimus allows it, I might just take you up on that.”
“Awesome!” Thrash pumped his fists in triumph.
Knockout, watching the exchange, gave a haughty scoff. “Two-wheelers,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “You’re not nearly as fast as you think.”
Thrash spun around, clenching his servos with playful determination. “You’re on!”
Arcee couldn’t help but grin, casting a sidelong look at Knockout. “I’m pretty sure I’m faster than you.”
Knockout’s optics narrowed. “Oh, I doubt that.”
“Am too!” Thrash jumped in.
“Am not!” Knockout replied, undeterred.
“AM TOO!”
“NUH UH!”
Optimus chuckled, at their antics, a noise that had both Arcee and Knockout glance at him. Knockout with thinly veiled concern, Arcee with a hint of barely hidden awe.
Optimus merely shook his head, finding himself suddenly awkward at the sudden staring. He looked away, unsure of how to respond.
“Look, look!” Thrash called out, transforming back into his motorcycle mode and spinning in small donuts, his sidecar swinging along. Thankfully bringing the two mechs attention to himself rather than Optimus.
What had that been about?
Thrash wriggled his sidecar attachment with pride, making an eager display.
“What’s that for?” Arcee asked, her optics bright with curiosity.
Thrash stopped, his sidecar transforming into a sturdy shield he held up for all to see. “It’s my sidecar, but it also turns into this!” He struck a pose, brandishing it proudly.
Knockout tilted his head, nodding with mild appreciation. “Fashionable and functional. Not bad—for a two-wheeler.” His smile was faintly condescending, but Arcee just rolled her optics at his remark.
“May I?” she asked, reaching for the shield.
Thrash handed it over eagerly, watching as Arcee examined the shield, testing its weight. Lifting it up and juggling between her two servos.
Without warning, she tossed it to Knockout, who fumbled to catch it, clearly unprepared. The red mech spluttered out more quiet curses.
Before anyone could react, Arcee’s cannons emerged from her subspace, and with swift precision, she fired three shots directly at the shield. Knockout yelped, stumbling back to hide behind the shield, looking thoroughly rattled.
“Arcee!” Optimus began, a note of reproach in his tone, but Knockout quickly drowned him out.
“YOU IDIOTIC , MONKEY-WRENCH OF A TWO-WHEELER! ” Knockout shouted, his voice high-pitched with indignation.
Arcee shrugged, taking back the shield with a smirk. “I knew it wouldn’t actually hit you.”
“Did you?? Or was it just a guess?” Knockout asked, annoyed.
“It was a calculated guess,” she replied smoothly, not bothering to hide her satisfaction.
Knockout continued to grumble, but Thrash beamed up at Arcee, his optics shining with newfound admiration.
“That was amazing! You’ve got to teach me how to fight like that!”
He glanced apologetically at Optimus before looking back at Arcee. “I mean, Bumblebee’s a great teacher and all, but he’s a four-wheeler! He doesn’t get it the way you would. You could show me all the motorcycle moves, the way of the Cybertronian motorcycle!”
Arcee hesitated, the request clearly catching her off guard. “Uh…you’d have to ask your Optimus first,” she said, shooting a glance toward him.
Optimus raised a brow plate. “And your mother,” he added.
Arcee blinked. “Mother?”
“Dorothy,” Optimus explained. “The Terrans share her DNA through the process that created them. Technically they’re as much her children as Mo and Robby are.”
Arcee simply nodded, absorbing the information. “Huh.”
Optimus let the three bots resume their banter, his gaze softening as he observed them. The way Arcee and Thrash bantered, the playful rivalry with Knockout—it reminded him of what Cybertronians could be in a time of peace, far from war. And for a brief, precious moment, he allowed himself to be at ease.
Optimus’s thoughts suddenly drifted back to his first encounter with the other Prime. He’d immediately noticed the contrasts, beginning with the other's frame.
The other Prime held a commanding aura, with a form much unlike Optimus’s own: broad-shouldered, heavily armoured, yet narrow at the legs, a design typical of those with roots in the higher castes. It spoke of a mech who hadn’t spent his early cycles on Cybertron lifting or labouring; his frame was efficient in its purpose, powerful yet pristine, hinting at refinement over ruggedness.
Optimus’s own structure bore the heavyset practicality of a labourer. His frame, forged for work, was boxier, more compacted, built to endure heavy loads rather than stand as a symbol of might. The Matrix had only reinforced what was already present, layering the armour needed for a warrior over a structure meant for toil.
The two Primes stood as opposites, each shaped by their origins, yet connected by a destiny they hadn’t chosen. This difference struck Optimus now, particularly as he observed how his own hands seemed rougher, sturdier. The other Prime seemed like a figure out of a grand myth, the kind that the Autobots might once have revered—strong, powerful, yet untouched by the hardships of labour.
Optimus did not regret the casual camaraderie that he had built with his own team. But the appearance of the new prime reminded Optimus of what he could’ve been.
Primus’ chosen. The last of the Primes.
A mantle Optimus had never really felt like he deserved.
Optimus couldn’t help but be captivated by the presence of the other Prime.
In his world, he’d grown accustomed to leading without the luxury of myth or divine status. He was simply Optimus, a bot who’d risen from the working class, chosen by the Matrix perhaps, but forever anchored in the gritty, unglamorous past of labour.
Yet, the other Prime seemed to embody something far grander, something almost sacred. He was like a relic from the Golden Age, a being sculpted to wield power and command reverence.
This Prime seemed like he belonged to a legend, a leader whose very form spoke of Primus’s favour.
There was an aura about him that reminded Optimus of the stories he’d once heard as a young mech in the labour camps.
Tales of the Primes, mechs said to be designed by Primus himself, wielders of a power that transcended the average Cybertronian. The Matrix granted strength to any who held it, but with this other Prime, it seemed as though the Matrix had chosen a frame already destined to bear such a mantle.
The way his shoulders squared, how his optics glowed with an unyielding light—everything about TFP Optimus radiated authority, a divine spark that Optimus could never quite feel in himself.
But it wasn’t only admiration. Optimus felt an unfamiliar reverence, almost a longing for a life where he too might have been crafted for something greater than endless struggle. Only to remind himself of the future he had built himself. He found he had no regrets regarding the treatment of his team.
But he still wondered.
Even though he was a Prime, his own journey had been through the trenches, marked by hardship and constant conflict. The other Prime seemed like a symbol of what he could never be—a Prime born from the higher castes, untainted by the rough realities of manual labour.
As he considered these things, he felt a quiet envy, mingled with a certain gratitude. This other Prime, so polished and majestic, was the kind of leader who could inspire legends, who could be seen as more than just a warrior.
He represented what the Autobots might have followed without question, had they all existed in an age of peace. Optimus’s own form had grown accustomed to the everyday burdens of command; his chipped plating and worn edges were testament to his tireless efforts. But he lacked the inherent grace that came so naturally to this other Optimus, the aura of Primus’s anointed.
But once again. The reminder of the state of his team burnt all thoughts of regret that came with being a more casual leader.
BEEP BEEP.
Optimus turned to see Wheeljack speeding into the clearing, causing Arcee to spring into action, weapons deployed. He stepped forward quickly.
“Easy, Arcee. That’s just Wheeljack—he's one of ours.”
Arcee raised a brow. “And the other one?”
Optimus looked over his shoulder, hearing familiar, delighted whoops.
“That would be…our Arcee,” he answered with a sigh.
The vintage muscle car roared into the clearing just ahead of Wheeljack, executing a perfect spin before transforming with a flourish. “Woo-hoo! Too slow, Wheeljack!”
Wheeljack transformed, clutching medical equipment. “Uh…I didn’t know we were racing?”
Arcee gave him a playful nudge. “I definitely said it was a race.”
Wheeljack muttered under his breath, his attention already drifting to Optimus. “So. Who’s the patient?”
“Back here. This is Kn—”
“KNOCKOUT?” Wheeljack and Arcee chorused, looking horrified.
Optimus sighed, wondering why everyone insisted on interrupting him today.
Both Wheeljack and his Arcee immediately pulled out their weapons, aiming at Knockout, who tried to slink behind the other Arcee.
The alternate Arcee leaped to attention, her own blasters ready. Thrash’s panicked gestures only escalated the tension as he frantically tried to wave them down.
“No, no, no! They’re friends, I swear!” Thrash yelped.
Optimus’s Arcee sneered, still keeping her weapon raised. “No offence, Thrash, but that’s Knockout. The complete hack-job of a Decepticon.”
“I thought he died ages ago?” Wheeljack muttered, eyeing the red medic suspiciously.
The alternate Arcee shot Optimus an exasperated glare. “You didn’t warn them of who they would be treating?”
Optimus offered a sheepish smile before moving between his team and their counterparts. “Arcee, Wheeljack—yes, this is Knockout, but he’s from…another dimension.”
Wheeljack’s grip loosened as he peered curiously at Optimus. “Another…dimension?”
“Yup!” Thrash announced, clearly excited to smooth things over. He ran over to fist-bump his Arcee, who looked bemused. “See? She’s also Arcee,” he pointed to the blue femme behind him, “but she’s a motorcycle!”
Optimus’s Arcee stared, holstering her weapon slowly. “Seriously? You’re also called Arcee?”
The blue Arcee nodded. “That’s me.”
Optimus’s Arcee brightened “Wow! Nice to meet ya!” She then pointed over to Wheeljack. “And that’s Wheeljack!”
“Pleasure to meet you, Arcee. Wow…this is going to get confusing,” Wheeljack chuckled nervously.
“Oh, OH! nicknames!” Thrash exclaimed, bouncing slightly. “You could be…Arce! Ace? How about Cee?”
Optimus’ Arcee grinned, punching the air. “Ace! I like it. Sounds badass.”
“And you can…just be Arcee.” Thrash said with a shrug, looking at the other world Arcee.
“Oh Thank Primus.” Arcee muttered as Knockout snickered from behind her.
“Good one, Thrash,” Wheeljack remarked, while eyeing Knockout warily.
“Okay…if we’re done with introductions, we’ve got a bot in need of medical attention.” Optimus said, interrupting Thrash before he went off track again.
Wheeljack gave a half-hearted sigh before turning to Optimus. “You sure about this, boss? Even if he’s from another dimension…he’s still Knockout.”
Knockout rolled his optics, giving a dramatic sigh. Optimus gave a firm nod. “Apparently, he’s an Autobot in his universe, according to his Prime.” He directed a pointed look at Wheeljack, who just shrugged and went along with it.
“Alright then. An Autobot Knockout.” Wheeljack sighed. “Never thought I’d see the day.” He leaned down to inspect Knockout’s damaged arm.
“Wait, you’re the medic? Where’s Ratchet?” Knockout demanded, attempting to edge away from Wheeljack, though not very successfully.
“Ratchet is… not on Earth,” Optimus said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “He’s probably still on Cybertron. We haven’t heard from him in many years.” He paused, trying to push aside thoughts of his old friend.
Knockout groaned. “Then literally anyone else. First Aid? Red Alert? I’d take Pharma over having a Wrecker examine me!”
Arcee raised an optic ridge. “How in Primus’ name does he even know who Pharma is…” she muttered, sharing Knockout’s wariness as she eyed Wheeljack.
“A Wrecker? Me? I wouldn’t last a day with those brutes!” Wheeljack huffed. “I’d much rather be in my lab than smashing and blowing things up.”
“You’re… not a Wrecker?” Arcee asked, slightly baffled.
“Never! I’m an inventor, a scientist! ” Wheeljack replied, looking more and more offended. “Why would I want to be a Wrecker?”
Knockout scowled, crossing his arms. “Where we come from, you’re a Wrecker. An annoying one at that. Blows up everything in sight just for the thrill.”
Arcee lifted her servos in a placating gesture. “Look, Wheeljack, you’re a Wrecker in our world. You still invent things… but it’s all geared toward, well, blowing stuff up.”
“By Primus…” Wheeljack turned to Ace. “Can you imagine that? Me, a Wrecker?”
Ace snickered, waving a servo dismissively. “Wheeljack? A Wrecker? Now that is a mental image.”
“Look, scientist or not, you’re not a medic,” Knockout interjected, crossing his arms. “So hand over the tools. I’ll fix my arm myself.”
Wheeljack shook his head and knelt beside Knockout. “Ratchet might not be here, and I might not have a medic’s certification, but I know enough to keep this team functional.”
“That’s only because you practically used to live in Ratchet’s med bay after blowing yourself up with one of your experiments,” Ace teased with a laugh.
Wheeljack grumbled under his breath, muttering something unintelligible, then reached for his tool bag. “Now, hold still and let me take a look.”
Knockout annoyed raised an optic ridge, before relenting and shoving his arm in Wheeljack's face. “You both recognized me before, it seems like I’ve left quite an impression here—my other self, anyway.” He finished with a smirk.
“Oh, absolutely.” Wheeljack’s tone was dry. “Knockout the Mad Doctor, Knockout the Surgeon, Knockout the Redline Reaper. Take your pick.”
Knockout shrugged, attempting to appear unbothered. Arcee shot him a scowl, and he muttered a half-hearted, “Oh…how terrible.”
Optimus could only shake his head, watching Knockout attempt the least convincing show of innocence he’d ever seen.
Wheeljack started his assessment on Knockout. “The energon lines in his arm are severed. We’ll need to replace and reconnect them. Thankfully, his self-repair systems should handle the minor dents, and we can push the plating back into place. But this pede…” Wheeljack’s gaze narrowed as he examined it closely. “This is a pretty old injury—this isn’t from the same accident that got your arm is it?”
Wheeljack and Arcee both looked to Knockout. Optimus frowned, leaning down to get a better view of the injury.
“Does it really matter?” Knockout deflected.
Wheeljack shook his head. “Well, be glad we’re fixing it now. This thing’s close to a rust infection.” He glanced around. “Arcee- I mean Ace, I could use some help with—”
“Right here!” Ace answered, giving Thrash another fist bump as she joined Wheeljack.
This name thing was going to get old really fast.
“No, no—I can do it myself.” Knockout’s voice was tight as he rummaged through Wheeljack’s med kit, grabbing tools and immediately welding the lines in his arm. “I don’t need…Ace’s help.”
Wheeljack muttered something under his breath about ‘infection risks,’ but Knockout ignored him, reaching for the spare energon lines in the kit.
Optimus’s optics softened with concern. “Knockout, you don’t want any anaesthetic for this?” Optimus knew how painful it could be to mess with the internal mechanisms within a bot. He tried to wince at the recklessness of Knockout's actions.
Knockout merely waved him off, his face taut with stubborn pride. “No need,” he said flatly, focusing on his repairs.
Optimus averted his gaze, observing Ace, Thrash, and Arcee animatedly conversing. Were they really going to call her that for the duration of their visitors' stay?
“So, Arcee—” he began.
“It’s Ace, Optimus!” Arcee interjected proudly. “Just until the other Arcee gets here. It’ll keep things less confusing, right?”
“Uh… sure… Ace. I was wondering, I only called for Wheeljack. What brought you here?”
“Oh! I saw Wheeljack leaving the base in a very not-so-sneaky way and got curious about where he was headed. I asked if I could tag along, and he let me! You know, just in case he needed an extra pair of servos.” Ace exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
She turned to Arcee. “So, you’re a motorcycle, huh? I guess I’m too big to transform into one.”
“Yup. You’re also… pink,” Arcee replied, a hint of cringe in her tone.
“Not a fan?” Ace asked, her finger absently tracing over the numerous scratches on Arcee’s frame. “Though I must say, that blue looks fantastic on you—despite all the blemishes.”
It struck Optimus that, aside from Knockout, all the visitors from the other world appeared worse for wear. Small dents and scratches littered their armors, telling tales of recent battles or neglect. Just another indication that Knockout was not the Autobot the Prime had claimed him to be.
“Not exactly my colour scheme, but… it, uh, suits you?” Arcee said, the compliment sounding more like a question. Ace seemed unfazed.
“Why, thank you!” Ace twirled dramatically.
“Well, I’m a motorcycle too, and Arcee is going to teach me how to fight!” Thrash declared enthusiastically.
“Look, kid, I never agreed to—”
“But you have to!” Thrash interrupted, his voice rising with urgency. “I need to learn to fight so I can protect my friends! Protect my family from Mandroid!”
Arcee shot a questioning glance at Optimus. “What in Primus is a Mandroid?”
Optimus sighed, realising the secret wouldn’t stay hidden for long anyways. “It’s something I’ll explain to you when you’re reunited with your team. For the sake of not having to repeat the same story twice,” he replied.
“ALL DONE!” a voice chimed from behind them.
Wheeljack appeared, helping Knockout to his feet. The red medic rolled his pede around gingerly before placing it on the ground, a pleased smile spreading across his face at the sight of his now-healed limb.
“Now, just because it’s fixed doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful. The plating around the near-infected area will be sensitive and more prone to injury, so whatever caused it in the first place—make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Wheeljack cautioned, eyeing Knockout’s self-repair work with scepticism.
“Wow, that was some quick work,” he added, genuine admiration in his voice.
Knockout rolled his optics, a smirk playing on his lips. “Of course it was. I’m a professional, you know?”
“Don’t I…?” Wheeljack grumbled, raising an eyebrow.
“Thank you for your help, Wheeljack. You can head back to base if you wish; I can take it from here,” Optimus said, nodding appreciatively.
Wheeljack smiled a nod before turning to Arcee. “Not to be rude but I noticed, with that smaller frame and lack of armour, did you used to be a spy or maybe a cyber ninja? You’ve got all that agility going for you. Haven’t really seen one in vorns.”
Arcee grinned, though Optimus noticed her slight discomfort at being so easily read. “Yeah, a spy actually. That’s why I have less armour; it’s bulky and slows me down. Plus, the smaller I am, the harder I am to hit.” Her tone held a hint of menace.
“Cool! I used to be a sharpshooter—killer aim!” Ace boasted, her confidence radiating.
Wheeljack cocked his head, a teasing smile forming. “Well, if Ace were to be a spy, she’d get caught before she even got started, wouldn’t she?”
“What can I say? I don’t have the patience for that kind of work,” Ace replied, shrugging nonchalantly.
“Oh my gosh!” Thrash exclaimed suddenly.
“What?” Both Arches responded in unison, prompting Optimus to hide a grin behind his hand.
“You and I are motorcycle buddies now!” Thrash declared, eyes wide with excitement.
“Uh…” Arcee hesitated, raising her servos.
“Oh! The Motorcycle Duo of Earth or Cybertron—your pick! THRASH AND ARCEE!!!” Thrash proclaimed dramatically, deepening his voice for effect and raising his servos in a mock-menacing pose.
“...Sure? I guess?” Arcee said, her tone laced with uncertainty.
“YES! Motorcycle duo! Motorcycle duo!” Thrash sang, bouncing up and down in circles, his enthusiasm infectious.
“Yes, yes, very exciting—HEY!” Wheeljack shouted.
They all turned to see Knockout rummaging through Wheeljack's bag, pulling out various parts and examining different pieces of equipment before discarding them onto the grass.
“What do you think you’re doing, mister? That’s my stuff, excuse you!” Wheeljack exclaimed, stomping over to Knockout.
“Oh, don’t be such a prude, Wheeljack,” Knockout replied casually, continuing to sift through the bag, ignoring the approaching mech. Suddenly, he held up a small part triumphantly, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Ah HA!”
“This!” he declared. A smug look on his face as he displayed the part to Optimus and Arcee.
Optimus and Arcee exchanged confused glances before turning back to Knockout. “And what exactly have you found, Knockout?” Optimus inquired.
Knockout shook the small round part in their faces, groaning as if they were sparklings. An act that seemed to irritate Arcee. If her hunching frame meant anything.
“That's my spare voicebox!” Wheeljack stated, carefully gathering the scattered parts and placing them back into the bag.
“...voicebox?” Suddenly Arcee's voice held something akin to hope?
“YUP! You know what this means, right?” Knockout said a little too excitedly. He had a glint to his eye that Optimus decided he didn’t particularly like.
“What?” Thrash asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
Optimus quickly pieced together what Arcee and Knockout were hinting at. “Your scout… he doesn’t speak, does he? Are you suggesting using this part for him?”
“Exactly!” Knockout replied. “Sure, it’s a little outdated, so I’ll need to calibrate it to match Bumblebee’s coding and internal structure, but that’s a simple fix.”
Wheeljack approached, concern etched on his face. “And who exactly would perform the procedure? Any internal replacement, vital or not, requires a qualified surgeon. I certainly can’t do it, I’m no Ratchet. And no human could either. It’s tricky work.”
“Who do you think is standing right in front of you? Am I just a pile of scrap? ” Knockout demanded, raising an eyebrow.
Despite the implications of his proposal, Arcee's expression shifted from hope to disgust. “Okay… no. That’s a horrible idea,” she growled.
Knockout lightly nudged her, eliciting a sharp glare from Arcee. “Why, Arcee? No trust in a fellow Autobot?” he teased.
Her glare intensified at the comment.
“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure Bumblebee would want to talk again, right?” Thrash chimed in innocently.
Ace, standing beside Wheeljack, cringed at Arcee’s intensity.
“BAH! Is your processor malfunctioning, Arcee? I’m offering to give your scout his voice back out of the pure goodness of my heart, and you deny it so easily?” Knockout exclaimed dramatically, waving his hands.
“You don’t have a heart!” Arcee shot back.
“Goodness of my spark, heart, whatever—it’s all the same,” Knockout retorted, his tone flippant.
Optimus stepped in before the situation escalated further. “Why don’t we consult your team, Arcee, before making any rash decisions?”
“FINE!” both Arcee and Knockout shouted simultaneously, turning away from each other in frustration.
To shift the focus, Wheeljack pulled a cube of energon from his subspace and offered it to Knockout. “Here. You must’ve lost a lot repairing your arm just now. Fuel up.”
“What is that slag supposed to be?” Knockout said, horrified, edging away from the energon cube. Arcee wore a similar look of disgust.
“It’s… energon?” Wheeljack replied, puzzled by their reactions.
“Your energon… is pink?” Arcee asked, leaning in for a closer look.
“Yours isn’t?” Optimus asked, raising an eyebrow.
Arcee shook her head and grabbed the cube for inspection. “Ours is blue. We’re also familiar with a much darker, purple energon, but never pink. Is this pure energon?”
“Yup! Mined from the depths of this planet!” Wheeljack said proudly.
“Well… energon is energon, I suppose,” Knockout said, tentatively taking the cube from Arcee and taking a sip. His expression shifted from confusion to satisfaction. “Tastes exactly the same,” he remarked, handing it back to Arcee.
She took a sip as well before giving the remaining cube back to Knockout. “Huh… weird.”
“There seems to be much about our universes that differs beyond just our appearances. There’s a lot to compare,” Optimus observed. “But we should probably head back now. Elita has been contacting me nonstop since you arrived. I’ll tell her to meet us at the Maltos. She should arrive around the same time as us if we leave now.”
Arcee paused, optics wide. “Wait… did you say Elita?”