Transformer in MCU

Downey didn't have grand ambitions. While others meticulously planned the ideals of their lives, Downey only had a simple dream: to become a truck driver and, one day, own a truck of his own. 

After graduating from university, he joined a transportation company. After two years of hard work, he saved up enough money and borrowed some more to finally buy a small truck for himself, a Nissan Frontier. He named it Optimus Prime.

This decision became the butt of jokes among his colleagues.

"Downey's gone crazy, naming his tiny truck Optimus Prime!"

"A miniature truck called Optimus Prime? What'll you call a big truck in a few years, the Emperor of the Universe?"

"Starting today, my ride's Megatron," another colleague teased.

People laughed and made their own assessments of Downey's choice.

Unfazed, Downey explained that although this was his first truck, it would be a long journey ahead. 

Even when he eventually bought a bigger vehicle, it would still be called Optimus Prime. It was a feeling, something personal, that others couldn't quite understand, but that he himself valued deeply.

His colleagues didn't take it seriously. Many asked him, "What kind of feeling? Is it some childhood obsession with Transformers?" But Downey never really gave a straight answer. 

When pressed, he would just nod and then shake his head. As time went on, the teasing persisted, though it was all in good fun.

At first, Downey tried explaining his reasoning, but the constant questions about his "feelings" wore him down. 

Eventually, he stopped defending himself, realizing there was no malice behind their words. 

He would just smile and listen, and as the novelty wore off, his colleagues moved on to other topics.

One morning, like any other, Downey was meticulously cleaning his truck. Many men treat their vehicles to their wives, and Downey was no exception. 

He took great care of his truck, spending time every day maintaining and cleaning it. To him, a good driver should treat their vehicle like a comrade-in-arms, not just a tool.

After finishing his routine, he got in, started the engine, and set off to deliver a load of fresh fruit. 

Due to the urgency of the delivery, Downey was driving a little faster than usual. By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late. 

A Lamborghini, speeding from the side, slammed head-on into the driver's side of Optimus Prime. The crash was devastating.

In Downey's last moments of consciousness, he caught a glimpse of the other driver—his flushed face and bloodshot, drunken eyes.

The man was young, clearly intoxicated. "At least I won't have to pay for his luxury car," Downey thought fleetingly. 

He regretted more that his beloved truck was totaled. He knew that even after repairs, it would never be the same; too many parts would need to be replaced. It wouldn't be the truck he cherished.

As consciousness slipped away, the world around Downey grew faint, the sounds of passersby screaming and shouting fading into a dull hum.

---

The evening news reported: "At 3:07 p.m. today, a tragic car accident occurred on Sunshine Avenue, resulting in one fatality. The driver responsible has been detained by police. We remind all citizens to prioritize traffic safety."

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Downey's head throbbed painfully. He could vaguely make out the sound of screaming, even gunfire. 

"The military?" he wondered in a haze. The noise was deafening, but then someone began slapping his face urgently, shouting in his ear.

"Wake up! Hey! If you stay here, you'll die! Get up, kid, if you don't want to be a goner!"

Downey struggled to open his eyes, the effort draining what little strength he had. He squinted at the stranger above him, then looked around at the familiar yet strangely alien surroundings.

"I'm not dead?" Downey muttered.

"Not yet! But you will be if you don't run! Those monsters won't care if you're injured. Move!" the man shouted.

"Run!" Another bystander came sprinting by, yelling a warning. But within moments, a massive chunk of debris struck him, crushing his body and spilling blood across the pavement.

Downey's face went pale as shock washed over him. Seeing someone brutally killed in front of him was a reality far beyond the comfort of his old life. 

The occasional roar from what sounded like monsters only heightened the terror. The streets were filled with chaos—buildings shattered, cars overturned, people screaming and running in all directions. It was a scene straight out of a disaster movie.

The man lifted Downey, dragging him along.

"What's going on?" Downey asked, still disoriented.

"Monsters!" the man replied. "Two monsters are fighting. A lot of people are dead."

That's when Downey realized: the man was speaking English, a language he barely knew. 

Yet somehow, he understood every word. As he glanced at the surrounding devastation and the fleeing crowd, a ridiculous thought struck him.

"Did I... time-travel?" he wondered, feeling utterly mad in the midst of the madness around him.

Suddenly, a massive figure crashed down near them, shaking the ground and sending dust and debris flying in every direction. The figure, towering three to five meters tall, let out a blood-curdling roar.

Downey's heart raced as he clearly heard the beast's bellow: "HULK!"

Hulk. A giant monster. English language. Strange surroundings. It all clicked.

"SHIT!" Downey exclaimed, recognizing the Hulk, one of the most iconic characters from Marvel.

As much as Downey wasn't a big fan of movies or comics, even he knew about the Hulk—an unstoppable force once enraged, a creature that didn't distinguish friend from foe.

The man carrying him was trembling just as much.

"Run," Downey urged, his voice shaking. "We need to find cover. Hide somewhere!"

He feared the man might abandon him, an injured stranger, but the man, despite his fear, stayed the course. 

He gritted his teeth and continued to carry Downey toward safety, each step a struggle but steady and unwavering. 

Downey felt a deep gratitude for this middle-aged stranger who refused to leave him behind.

The once-bustling city had become a war zone. Buildings were crumbling, cars lay in twisted heaps, and the few survivors cowered under any available shelter. 

In the distance, Downey could see the military and civilians scrambling for safety. Armed helicopters circled above but stayed far away from the carnage below. 

A few flickering street lights provided a weak, comforting glow amidst the chaos. Under that dim light, Downey and the man pressed forward, desperate to escape.

The Hulk roared again, smashing his fists into the ground in frustration. For now, it seemed the two were insignificant enough to escape his attention.

But their luck wouldn't last. Downey's injuries slowed them down, and the man carrying him was growing exhausted.

Out of nowhere, another enormous figure, darker in hues of Red, leaped into view. This one was no less terrifying than the Hulk.

"Abomination!" Downey realized, as the monstrous figure challenged Hulk. "I'm stronger than you now!" it roared.

The chill that ran down Downey's spine was unlike anything he'd ever felt. Another monster—one that might be even worse than the Hulk.

The man beside him, though terrified, remained calm. "These are the monsters," he muttered. "They've destroyed everything. They'll go to hell for this."

Sweat poured down Downey's face. Amid the wreckage, he spotted something familiar—his own Changan Star truck, overturned on the side of the road.

"Go there!" Downey pointed, urging the man. "Let's hide behind that truck. Maybe those monsters won't notice us small people."

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