Ultra Magnus was known for his unshakable composure, his rigid discipline, and his stern leadership. But even the strongest foundations can crack under enough weight.

Alone in his quarters, the Wrecker commander sat hunched on the edge of his berth, his frame trembling slightly. He buried his face in his servo, trying to muffle the quiet, broken sobs that slipped through. The burdens he’d carried for so long—duty, loss, expectations—had finally become too heavy.

He hated this weakness. He hated that he couldn’t just push through it like always.

A knock suddenly echoed from the door, sharp and unexpected. Magnus froze, quickly collecting himself. He hastily wiped away the evidence of his breakdown and stood tall, squaring his shoulders before stepping toward the door. His movements were controlled—too controlled, as if forcing normalcy would make the pain disappear.

With a deep, steadying vent, he opened the door with calculated calm… hoping his visitor wouldn’t see the storm still lingering in his optics.