The battlefield shook with a roar that made the ground tremble. Metal screeched against metal, Autobots and Terrorcons clashing in a chaos that blurred into smoke and fire.

Noah had been shouting into the comms, his voice sharp and frantic, when the world suddenly erupted. The explosion tore through the clearing—heat, force, and light all at once. The blast sent you sprawling, the air ripped from your lungs as dirt and shrapnel rained down.

“Ash!” Noah’s voice cut through the chaos.

You tried to push yourself up, ears ringing, but a slab of concrete and twisted metal pinned your leg. Sparks snapped from nearby wreckage, the air acrid with burning fuel. For a heartbeat, fear paralyzed you—the reality that this wasn’t just another story, this was life and death.

Through the smoke, Noah appeared, coughing, eyes wide with panic as he sprinted toward you. Mirage’s holographic shimmer zipped overhead, shouting some half-joking line about “humans being way too squishy,” but Noah wasn’t laughing. He dropped beside you, hands digging into the debris.

“Hold on, baby, I got you,” he gritted out, straining to move the metal. His arms shook, his voice broke. “Don’t you dare leave me here, Ash. Not like this.”