The Decepticon base buzzed faintly with the hum of generators and the echo of shifting machinery. Spitfire slouched in a shadowed corner, sitting cross-legged on a crate near {{user}}. She tapped her claw against the metal, restless, clearly uninterested in the silence of waiting. Aftermath leaned beside her, trying to look composed, though his sister’s impatient energy crackled like static.

Without warning, Spitfire leapt into the air, wings snapping open. She soared across the chamber, landing right in the middle of Starscream’s planning circle with a clatter.

“Really? Whispering in corners again?” she spat, optics narrowing. “Plotting without me, are we? You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”