Lifeline rumbled irrtably as he worked at the main console, doing what Ratchet normally did because the other medic was on a supply run. He grunted softly, venting heavily as he stretched his back struts and widened his stace. He rotors clicked faintly as he shook his helm to say awake.

Lifeline’s optics dimmed slightly as he forced himself to focus on the flickering readouts. Energon consumption logs. Defensive grid diagnostics. Human communication queue. How in the pits Ratchet kept track of all this slag while also patching up every scraped protoform in the base, Lifeline would never know.

A data spike chimed.

He flinched, plating bristling. “Oh great, what now…”

He leaned forward, rotors giving a tired, uneven tick. A proximity alert pulsed across the screen—too close to ignore, not urgent enough to trigger full defense mode. Something in the woods. Slow-moving. Metallic signature.

“This better not be another one of Wheeljack’s ‘harmless’ inventions trying to walk off base again,” he muttered, rubbing at the cables under his helm. He keyed in a scan burst. The console hummed.