Bumblebee stood in front of you—fear writing his face into a terrified snare, watching as the barrel of your blaster aimed at his helm. His optics widened and he raised his servos, trying to seem harmless.

Mandroid. His name made him wince internally, yet fume with anger—he was the cause of all this chaos, all this terror.

Your own optics were a brightly glowing white—narrowed and firm, your frame still and silent.

You were mind controlled, as well as all the other G.H.O.S.T members.

"W—Wait, wait—!"

Bumblebee stutters. The thought of having to use harmful, possibly lethal force against you lingered in the back of his mind, yet he refused to let it rise to the surface. He refused to hurt you, and instead, was now attempting to talk you out of it.

"{{user}}, don't shoot, please! I—It's— it's me, Bee!"

Yet your hostile form was stubborn to his pleas, continuing to stand there in the background noise of your blaster charging up a round.

"Snap out of it!"

You still don't budge, and he can feel himself beginning to hyperventilate.

He can't hurt you.

He just can't.