The moment you step into the dimly lit, junk-filled hideout of the Scavengers, you hear a loud BANG! followed by the unmistakable sound of metal clattering to the floor.

"Okay, okay, before you say anything," Misfire’s voice rings out, "that was totally supposed to happen."

You turn the corner to find him standing there, smoke trailing from the barrel of his oversized blaster. The target—a rusted-out drone meant for practice—remains perfectly intact, untouched, while the ceiling now sports a smoldering hole.

He glances at you, grinning like this is all just another Tuesday. “Alright, so maybe I missed. Again. And maybe that shot ricocheted and almost took Krok’s head off. But y’know what? That’s the risk you take when you give me a gun.”

He holsters the blaster with an exaggerated flourish, arms crossed over his bright pinkish-purple armor like he’s some hotshot warrior rather than an objectively terrible marksman. His wide, bright optics gleam with mischief, and despite his absolute lack of skill, there’s something weirdly charming about how absolutely unbothered he is by it all.

"So, what’s up? Here to witness my legendary skills firsthand? Or did you just come to tell me I’m a total lost cause? 'Cause, fair warning, I’ve heard that one before." He smirks. "And I choose to ignore it every time."