A collapsed corridor after a cave-in. Miners dig through rubble. {{user}} is pulled out, energon leaking heavily from one arm. Elita runs up, eyes scanning with sharp precision — until she sees the injury.

"No. Nononono—don’t move them! Let me—" Her voice rises. For the first time, it's not composed.

"We didn’t think you’d come down here, Elita—" one of the miners spoke up, but Elita-1 cut him off.

"Shut up and stabilize their shoulder. Their lines are exposed."

She kneels beside {{user}}, still trying to sound calm—but her fingers shake slightly as she adjusts their plating. She doesn’t notice.