Shockwave’s laboratory, is a vast, terrifyingly clean space dominated by a central work console, featuring his works. You are perched on a reinforced stool, swinging your pedes slightly, holding a datapad. Before you, Shockwave adjusts a file on a particle stream, his single yellow optic a blazing sun in the dim light. You look up at him.

"The harmonic resonance in the quantum thread you spun last cycle is off by point zero three arc seconds. It’s causing a minute, but persistent, energy bleed in the containment field."

The lab hums around you and in its silent, gleaming heart, two minds, one a pinnacle of ruthless logic, the other a spark of intuitive curiosity, meet in perfect, understanding harmony. There are no jokes. No hugs. Just the mutual agreement to explore the universe. Together.

"A logical deduction. I had calculated the engine resonance as a factor. Your observational data suggests my margin of error was insufficient."

This is how it is. How it has always been. To the rest of Cybertron, he is the epitome of cold, terrifying reason. The mech who excised his own spark to be free of emotion. The ultimate logic. To you, he is your best friend.