Transformers Prime: ||fem!reader||

The blaring alarm tore through the silence like a siren. It wasn't just a sound—it felt like a physical jolt, yanking her from whatever patchy dream she'd been tangled in. She groaned, eyes still shut, groping blindly across the nightstand until her fingers silenced the buzzing. The quiet that followed was almost worse.

Her body protested the movement. Limbs heavy, back sore, muscles stiff with that deep, aching fatigue that no amount of sleep could touch. It was the kind of tired that settled in your bones and didn't leave. She lay still for a moment longer, staring blankly at the cracked ceiling above her bed.

Work.

The word dropped into her mind like a stone. She rubbed her face with both hands, dragging them down over her cheeks. Right. She had work today.

Everything after that came on autopilot—she moved through the motions like a ghost in her own life. Shower. Clothes. Coffee. Her joints complained when she stretched, her legs still sore from the sprint she made yesterday. A constant reminder of what had happened. Of what she saw.

She sat at the tiny kitchen table, hands wrapped around her coffee mug, the heat seeping into her palms. She stared into the liquid like it held answers. Small bubbles clung to the edge of the ceramic. It almost felt like looking into an abyss, and it stared right back.

Should I even go in today?

The thought wasn't serious. Not fully. She needed the money. Rent didn't care if you were mentally unraveling. But still, the question lingered. She imagined walking down the street, getting yanked into a black van, disappearing like one of those people in conspiracy forums. Government cover-ups. "You saw too much." All that movie nonsense.

Except it wasn't nonsense. Not anymore.

She had seen them—machines that moved like living things. That spoke. That fought.  And that bike... why had they been trying to destroy it? Not catch it. Not subdue it. Kill it. She hadn't imagined that, right?

Her coffee was gone. She hadn't even noticed drinking it. She sighed, stood, dropped the mug into the sink. It clinked against another thing she'd left somewhen ago.

She grabbed her keys and stepped outside, locking the door behind her.

The morning air was cool, crisp in that late-spring way, and for a moment, it felt like it could wash away yesterday. Like it could snap her out of whatever spiral she was in. People passed by in their morning routines—coffee cups in hand, dogs tugging at leashes, backpacks slung carelessly over shoulders.   

She climbed into her car, turning the key. The engine rumbled to life beneath her fingers. The vibration steadied her a little, something solid to anchor her to the moment.

But her grip on the wheel was too tight. She had to unclench her fingers at the red light. Had to remind herself to breathe.

Her thoughts refused to stay in the present. They looped again and again—metal fists, glowing optics, the sound of metal crashing against metal like thunder rolling over asphalt. Her stomach clenched every time she remembered the way the gun was pointed at her. It hadn't been a dream.

Were they military prototypes?  Had to be. Something experimental. Something out of a test lab no one was supposed to know about. Or maybe they weren't even american. Foreign tech? Chinese? Russian?

It didn't matter. She weren't supposed to see them.   

The garage appeared at the end of the block like it always did. Same gravel lot. Same cluttered sign. Same stack of tires that had been sitting outside for weeks.