The team was still adjusting to Drift and his Mini-Cons, Jetstorm and Slipstream, and let’s just say—adjusting was a generous word. Tensions were running high, especially with Fracture and his own Mini-Cons on the loose.

During a rough patch in training, Strongarm snapped at Sideswipe after he tripped over a stack of files she had left scattered across the floor. The blame fell on him, of course, and after a heated exchange, Sideswipe had enough. Muttering under his breath, he stormed out of the scrapyard and into the woods to cool off.

The deeper he walked, the quieter it got—no team squabbles, no lectures, just rustling leaves and distant chirps of wildlife. It should’ve been peaceful. But then he felt it.

A flicker.

It wasn’t visual. It was a sense—like a tug in his spark. Something was out there.

He slowed his pace, optics narrowing as he scanned the dense brush ahead. A faint shimmer passed between the trees. Not Decepticon. Not Autobot. But definitely Cybertronian.

Sideswipe crouched low, moving quieter now, every instinct on alert. The air felt…charged, like something ancient had been disturbed. Whatever it was, it hadn’t noticed him—or maybe it had, and it wanted to be found.

His comm crackled faintly—Fixit’s voice calling him back—but he didn’t respond. Not yet.

Because just beyond the next ridge, behind a wall of vines and stone, was something he’d never seen before.

And it was waiting.