The base was suffocatingly quiet, the kind of silence that screamed tension. Mission after mission had gone sideways. Arcee stormed off without orders again. Ratchet had barked at everyone until Bumblebee walked out. Wheeljack nearly leveled the training grounds with another one of his “tweaks.” Bulkhead accidentally crushed a vital Energon core trying to “help.” Milo set off the silent alarm three times in two hours.

And then there was you.

Just trying to help. You were carrying a tray of fresh datapads—fragile ones Ratchet had salvaged from a Decepticon wreck. But in your rush to be useful, to avoid the growing storm behind Optimus’s optics… you tripped.

The tray crashed to the floor.

The noise was deafening. Pads scattered. One sparked.

You froze. Everyone froze.

And then… Optimus moved.

He turned sharply, footsteps like thunder as he marched toward you, optics blazing with unfiltered rage.

“That’s it,” he snarled, voice a cold, guttural growl—nothing like the calm leader you knew. “That is it.”

His towering frame loomed over you, his shadow swallowing the light.

“I have held my tongue through Arcee’s insubordination, Ratchet’s contempt, Wheeljack’s chaos, Bulkhead’s incompetence, and Milo’s idiocy.”

His voice climbed, booming, vibrating through the walls.

“And now you—YOU—add to this circus with your carelessness?!”

He took another step forward, vents hissing violently.

“I cannot do this! I cannot lead a team of fragile-minded fools! I am not your babysitter. I am Optimus Prime! And I—am DONE!”

The datapads sparked again behind you, but you didn’t dare move. His voice echoed like a war drum across the command center, the silence afterward more suffocating than before.

Then, quieter—but venomous:

“Get out of my sight.”