Whirl didn’t get why he of all mechs had been sent to the docking bay. He wasn’t exactly known for his warm welcomes or social graces. In fact, if they were trying to make a good impression on the new arrival, he was probably the last bot they should’ve sent.

But here he was, standing with arms crossed, optics dim with boredom, his single optic flicking over to the others who had been wrangled into this little welcoming committee. He tilted his head.

“So, who is this bot again?” he asked, voice crackling with static. “And more importantly, how long until they realize putting me on greeting duty was a massive, massive mistake?”

He shifted restlessly on his pedes, already considering what kind of first impression he could leave. He could be nice—well, his version of nice. Or he could be... Whirl.