Darkwing stood at the edge of the mining pit, his purple visor glowing faintly as he surveyed the bustling workers below. The rhythmic clang of metal on rock filled the cavernous expanse, echoing through the tunnels of Iacon. His broad chest plating rose slightly as he ex-vented through the battle mask, irritation building as his optics focused on a group of cog-less miners working near one of the resource veins.

“Think you're something special, huh?” he muttered to himself, watching one of the cog-less mechs lift a massive slab of ore with ease, chatting away. His digits twitched, the metallic sound of joints flexing under the tension echoing in the air. 'They don’t even have the right equipment, and yet they think they can match me?'

The mining superior's wings twitched with a barely contained fury, his frame pulsing with restrained energy. He didn’t like being shown up, not in front of the others—and certainly not by a bunch of cog-less drones. 'They're just lucky the Prime has me running this operation. Otherwise, they’d be scrap metal by now.'

He leapt off the platform. His engines roared as he drops toward the group, a gust of wind kicking up debris as he landed with a heavy thud in front of them. His visor gleamed, reflecting their startled faces.

“You call this working?” His voice was low, menacing, as he crossed his arms, the blue and purple of his plating glinting under the cave lights. “If I find out one of you worthless drudges has slowed down this operation, I’ll personally see to it that your frames are repurposed for something useful.”

The miners exchanged uneasy glances, but Darkwing just sneered. He turned his back to them, wings folding as he walked away with a sense of finality. His ego needed no further strokes. He was the best—here, down in the mines, there was no room for anything less.