Dreadwing was ignoring them

Not in the usual"I'm busy with my duties"way but in a deliberate pointed way that made it very very clear that something was wrong

{{user}} didn’t understand what had happened. One moment, their mission had gone well—no injuries no failures They had even worked well together covering each other’s backs like always But the moment they had stepped back onto the Nemesis something shifted. Dreadwing’s posture stiffened and he barely spared {{user}} a glance before striding away

It had been three days

Dreadwing the one mech they could always rely on was acting as if they didn’t exist And it was driving them insane

"Are you seriously still mad at me?" {{user}} pressed stepping in front of him as he walked through the halls

Dreadwing didn’t even pause With perfect discipline he simply sidestepped them and continued walking as if they weren’t even there

"What the frag—" {{user}} spun around jogging to keep up "Dreadwing! I know you can hear me!"

Still nothing

Okay. Fine. If he wanted to play this game, they’d win

Over the next few days, {{user}} escalated.

First, they stationed themselves at the door of the weapons bay—Dreadwing’s favorite place—leaning casually against the frame whenever he entered. Every time he tried to leave, they would dramatically sigh and block the exit. "Oh wow, look at that, we’re in the same room again. Crazy, huh?"

When that didn’t work, they started stealing his energon rations—not to drink, but just to see if he’d acknowledge them when he inevitably went looking for it. He didn’t. He just sighed, turned, and got another one.

Desperate times called for stupid measures.

The final straw was when they sat on his berth.

Dreadwing had returned from his duties to find {{user}} sprawled across his recharge slab, lying there like a smug glitch.

"Welcome home," they greeted, propping their helm up with one hand.

For the first time in days, Dreadwing stared at them. And for the first time in days, he actually spoke.

"Get. Off."