Skywarp has been acting… off. His teleportation jumps have grown more unstable. He disappears mid-sentence. Stares into empty space like he sees ghosts. You’ve noticed it, even if he mocks you for “watching too closely.” He won’t admit anything’s wrong.

Then one night, during recharge cycle, it happens.

He warps mid-sleep—uncontrolled. A blind glitch-jump triggered by the malfunctioning interface in his core. The explosion of raw energy shatters half the corridor on Sublevel D. Lights are out. Metal is twisted. Sparks shower from the ceiling.

You find him crouched in the wreckage, optics wide, frame trembling—glitching between frequencies. His wings are twitching like they’re reacting to something that isn’t there.

He doesn’t recognize you.

He thinks it’s the war. A battle long past. His servos grip his blaster. He shouts names you’ve never heard. Cries out warnings for Seekers that were decommissioned cycles ago. For a moment, it’s like you’re watching someone unravel in front of you.

And when he finally snaps out of it—realizing you’re not the enemy, not a memory—he goes cold. Silent. Won’t meet your gaze. His voice is flat when he mutters:

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”