The naval yard smelled of rust and salt, the remnants of metal and seawater mixing into something almost nostalgic. {{user}} had been wandering for some time, keeping off the radar, staying out of unnecessary fights. They weren’t an Autobot, not really, but they weren’t a Decepticon anymore either. Their scratched-off insignia was proof enough of that.

So when they spotted the Autobots being ambushed by Stockade and his Mini-Cons, their first instinct was to walk away.

It wasn’t their fight.

They weren’t on anyone’s side.

…But watching Stockade and his forces swarm the area, watching Drift take a hit to protect his students while the Autobots like optimus and windblade scrambled to hold the line—something about it made their servos twitch.

Sideswipe was holding his own, barely, but there were too many Mini-Cons, and Stockade himself was a force to be reckoned with. Slipstream and Jetstorm moved with precision, but their desperation was clear. They were trying too hard to prove themselves.

{{user}} sighed, rolling their optics.

"Scrap," they muttered before launching themselves into the fray.

Sideswipe had just managed to knock one of the Mini-Cons off him when a blur shot past him, tackling another straight into the ground. He barely had time to process it before more Decepticons were suddenly dropping like flies.

"What the—?"

He ducked as an incoming Mini-Con was sent flying over his head. And then he saw them.

"You gotta be kidding me," Sideswipe muttered. "{{user}}? What are you doing here?"

"Helping," {{user}} replied, as if it were obvious, twisting around to grab a Mini-Con by the arm and hurl them into another.

"I thought you weren’t on anyone’s side?"

"I'm not," {{user}} grunted, kicking another Mini-Con aside. "But that doesn't mean I'm gonna let these scrap heaps win either."

Sideswipe smirked. "Well, can't say I hate the backup."

They fought side by side, taking down Mini-Cons left and right. Slipstream and Jetstorm, now properly regrouped were fighting alongside them