The plastic grocery bags dug lightly into Xen’s fingers, a familiar, mundane weight against the backdrop of an unusually perfect Canadian afternoon. Spring in Ottawa (or somewhere just like it) had finally decided to commit, chasing away the lingering chill with a tentative warmth that promised summer wasn't just a myth this year. Xen hummed a tuneless melody, the gentle rhythm of his footsteps on the cracked pavement a counterpoint to the distant city hum.

  He could have taken the usual route home, the one that cut through suburbia with ruthless efficiency. But today… today felt different. The air tasted cleaner, the sky seemed a more profound blue, and a restless energy, the kind that settles in your bones after too much screen time, urged him towards the less-trodden path. The scenic route, winding past the old, overgrown park and towards the lookout hill that offered a surprisingly decent view, called to him. Why not? he thought. Groceries could wait an extra ten minutes.

  The path grew steeper, transitioning from asphalt to packed earth littered with stubborn weeds and the occasional brave wildflower. The breeze picked up as he ascended, tugging playfully at his hair and whispering through the tall grasses flanking the trail. It carried the scent of damp earth, budding trees, and something else… a faint, almost electric tang, barely noticeable. Xen barely registered it, more focused on the crest of the hill just ahead.

  He reached the top, a small, grassy plateau overlooking a patchwork of fields, distant houses, and the shimmering ribbon of a river. The wind met him fully here, rushing up the slope in a cool, invigorating wave. Xen stopped, the familiar weight of the grocery bags in his hands grounding him for a moment. He closed his eyes, tilted his face towards the sky, and took a deep, deliberate breath. The air filled his lungs, chasing away the stale indoor feeling, the accumulated static of daily life. For a moment, everything was just… perfect. Stillness. Peace. The simple, profound joy of being alive under an open sky.

  That’s when he heard it.

  Not a loud bang, not immediately. More like a deep, resonant thrum, a vibration felt more in his bones than heard with his ears, emanating from somewhere kilometers away. It was followed almost instantly by a sharp crack, like reality itself had fractured.

  Xen’s eyes snapped open. He instinctively looked towards the source of the sound, a direction he vaguely associated with that fenced-off industrial complex housing the experimental particle accelerator everyone joked about. He saw nothing at first, just the serene landscape.

  Then, the world blurred.

  Not a gradual fade, but an instantaneous distortion, like a watercolour painting hit by a firehose. A cylinder of impossible light, easily twenty cubic meters in volume, erupted from the direction of the complex. It wasn't just bright; it was an incandescent absence, a churning vortex of blues and whites that didn’t illuminate the landscape but consumed it, punching through the air at unimaginable speed.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  It was aimed right at him.

  There was no time to react, no time to think, no time even for fear to fully register. One moment, Xen was standing on the hill, bathed in sunlight, bags clutched in his hands. The next, the "Blurr" cylinder slammed into him.

  Agony. Pure, absolute, all-encompassing agony. It wasn't like being burned, or cut, or broken. It felt like every single atom composing his body was being simultaneously ripped apart and branded with searing heat. A scream tore from his lungs, unheard, unmade, as existence itself dissolved around him. He felt himself being pulled, stretched thin across an impossible dimension, every nerve ending screaming in protest before annihilating itself.

  The plastic grocery bags dropped to the scorched earth where he had stood, the faint outline of his grip burned onto the handles. Milk cartons ruptured, spilling white across the blackened grass.

  And then… woosh.

  The searing pain vanished, instantly replaced by a profound, almost shocking coolness, like diving into an icy lake. Disorientation crashed over him, a dizzying sense of non-space, non-time. Vision swam back into focus, fragmented and strange.

  He wasn't on the hill anymore. He wasn't anywhere familiar. Towering structures of twisted, rusted metal loomed around him – a scrap heap, vast and desolate. The air smelled of ozone, rust, and something else… something metallic and faintly sweet, yet sharp. Energon.

  A colossal shadow fell over him. Xen’s perspective – wherever he now was – tilted upwards. A gigantic metal hand, scarred and pitted, larger than a car, slammed onto the ground nearby, shaking the debris. Sparks showered down from somewhere above, originating from the chest of a truly immense figure slumped in the center of the scrap yard. It was a Transformer, dying. Its body flickered with failing light, internal mechanisms groaning a death rattle.

  Even in its weakened state, it radiated power and immense age. Its optics, dimming rapidly, seemed to focus on… him? Or the space he occupied?

  With a final, shuddering effort, the dying giant reached a shaking hand towards its own chest cavity. Metal groaned in protest as fingers tore inwards, ripping through plating. It pulled out something that pulsed with a soft, fading blue light – its core. A Spark. A metal heart, slowly, inevitably going dark.

  Desperation burned in the giant’s optics. It wasn't looking at him, Xen realized, but at the small, newly-formed metal shell directly in front of its fading gaze. A shell Xen was somehow… inside? Connected to?

  With a final surge of will, the giant shoved its dimming Spark forward, pushing it directly into the chest of the small, roughly two-foot tall protoform.

  A jolt, electric and overwhelming, surged through Xen’s new awareness. Information, sensations, alien yet distantly familiar energies flooded his nascent consciousness. It was too much. He felt himself falling, tumbling into an abyss of non-being, a state beyond unconsciousness.

  His last fleeting perception, as everything dissolved into black, was of the giant Transformer’s faceplate. Was that… a smile? A flicker of satisfaction, of hope maybe, ghosting across its features as its own lights finally went out? Happy for… us? Why would…

  Thought fragmented. Awareness ceased.

  Everything went black.