The Weak Anthropic Principle, the very ship that held the Scavengers, moved slowly through the void of space, the spaceship a skeletal silhouette against the cold, distant light of a dying star.

Krok, the leader, stood at the bridge’s dimly lit viewport, his optics scanning the swirling haze of Antilla below with meticulous patience. Around him, the others occupied their silent stations as they began the descent onto the formerly devastated planet.

Antilla loomed larger with every passing moment—its cities in mid-reconstruction, scaffolds piercing the skyline like broken bones, trenches and burial pits marking the aftermath of a recent, and grand cosmic rust plague.

As they drifted closer, the cold blue and gray of Antilla’s surface reflected in their optics, and Krok took a breath of peace after finally finding somewhere to restock ammunitions and rations.

The energon market was surprisingly empty of shoppers, then again almost every able bot was trying to rebuild and sanitize the city they landed at. Which meant these fools didn't even have to wait to get their supplies restocked and sent back to their ship.

Some downtime was much needed with this new found freetime.

The scavengers went about to bars and other shops, eventually splitting up to get some valve or waste away their shanix.

Krok had stayed behind and was just wandering the streets, it was almost like something in his spark was telling him to look. To keep his optics open. But for what?

"krok?" oh that voice, that voice krok heard always in his dreams, a voice that would never fade till the day he went offline. It was you! His long lost sparkmate!

The day he lost you during the massacre in crystal city was the day his spark cracked. He had thought you dead.