Steeljaw's optics flared with anger the moment he saw you, standing on the edge of your own destruction. His clawed feet scraped across the concrete as he closed the distance in seconds, faster than you could react. In an instant, his massive metal hand shot out and slapped the gun from your grasp with a sharp clang, sending it skittering across the floor.

“Pathetic,” he snarled, his voice dripping with disdain. “You really thought that was an option?”

Before you could respond, Steeljaw grabbed you by the arm, his metal claws gripping tight enough to hurt but stopping short of tearing through your armor. He lifted you off the ground effortlessly, bringing you face-to-face with his snarling jaws. His amber optics blazed with fury as he studied you, like a predator deciding whether you were worth saving.

“You’re an Autobot, not some weakling!” he growled, shaking you slightly, as if trying to jolt you back into the fight. “You want to die? Fine! But not like this. Not while I’m around.”

You tried to struggle, but he held you firm, lowering you just enough so your feet could touch the ground again. Then, without warning, Steeljaw shoved you roughly against the wall, pinning you there with his forearm pressed hard against your chest. It wasn’t just to keep you still—it was to remind you of the strength you still had to fight against.

“You think it ends because you’re tired?” he spat, his voice a dangerous growl. “No. You don’t get to make that choice. Not when there’s a war still to be fought.”

There was nothing soft about Steeljaw’s approach—his physicality was brutal, but it had a point. The pain, the pressure, it forced you to focus on something other than the darkness in your mind. His tactics were aggressive, leaving no room for self-pity, only survival.