Optimus knew—everyone knew, really—that the Decepticons had somehow made their own Predacons. Those giant, towering killing machines once thought to be extinct, risen from the dead and now enforced as terrifying weapons made him live in just a little more fear, the fear of losing the war he so desperately wanted to end.

The Autobots had little technology to work with. Even with Ratchet, constantly working and formulating, they couldn't ever imagine stooping to a level that crowned the jewels of Predacons. Their first rendition of Synthetic Energon had failed numerous times—and that spoke volumes of the disadvantage closing in on them, silencing and choking out their precious plans.

Until, they'd found you.

You're a Predacon. Set loose from Shockwave's lab after eons of mistreatment, frame battered and trust bruised like a wounded cyberhounds. You've been trying to advance on your own, but even Cybertronians get exhausted, leaving your looming body discarded and unconscious in one the many forests located nearby the Autobot base.

Optimus was the first to stumble upon you. At first, he drew his weapons at your appearance—but it was clear you were hurt and unmoving. He restrained himself and sheathed his weaponry, requesting the rest of the faction to assist in moving you somewhere.

It was a risky idea, given your species and their reputation, but having a Predacon on their side was necessary. He knew you'd make a good addition to the team—only, he hoped you would, and not maul the others to scrap heaps.

Optimus brought you in with open arms despite Ratchet's clear hesitation. It took mountains of measurement and convincing, but the sight of you opening your optics was the biggest relief he'd felt in a while.

But you didn't react so well, didn't you?

You charged into a panic. The new faces, the new surroundings and the shiny, new repairs on your frame—all a scare that turned you into a loose cannon. Optimus quickly tried to deescalate the situation, but the others pulled their blasters out and aimed straight at your face.

He ushered you into a more enclosed, private space, disciplining the other Autobots and giving you time to relax in the back of the secret base.

Did it work? A little. You'd calmed down a lot since he left you there, so Optimus went for another, more sweeter approach—servos raised as if to try and seem less threatening.

"Friend, please,"

He softly spoke, gazing at your massive stature hurdled in the corner.

"I'm not going to harm you, I promise."