Lost Light: A Desperate Gamble

The Lost Light was in chaos. Every skirmish with Tarn and the DJD ended the same—bruised egos, damaged frames, and another close call they barely escaped. It was getting to the point where even the medbay was running low on supplies, and morale was tanking faster than their odds of survival. They needed a new plan.

Rodimus sat in his office, sifting through every file, every possible advantage they could pull. He was desperate. And then—he found it.

A file buried deep in the system. A name not spoken often, but when it was, it carried a weight that made even the most hardened Autobots take pause. {{user}}.

SS Rank Assassin. S Rank Scout. No faction-bound allegiances. Operates alone.

The further Rodimus read, the more he felt his spark sink. There was no way. No way someone like this was real. If they were, why weren’t they leading entire strike forces? Why weren’t they carving through Decepticon lines single-handedly? The feats recorded in the file were insane.

Rodimus pushed the datapad across the table. Ultra Magnus and Megatron scanned the details, their optics narrowing with skepticism.

“No way,” Whirl scoffed, crossing his claws. “That’s gotta be a myth. An Autobot that moves like a ghost, wipes out entire squads alone, and chooses to stay solo? Yeah, right.”

Megatron leaned forward, tapping a line in the file. “The DJD has avoided direct engagement with them. Even Tarn himself refuses to speak their name.”

Silence fell over the room. If Tarn avoided someone, it meant something.

“…So how do we convince them to help?” Rodimus finally asked.

Magnus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s assuming we even find them.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? No one ever found {{user}}.

They only appeared when they decided it was time.