The base had been tense for weeks now, and Ratchet had finally figured out why. It wasn’t the usual chaos of Sideswipe causing trouble or the aftermath of a mission gone sideways—no, this was different. Every time he caught sight of {{user}}, they seemed more drained, more reluctant to even be in the common areas. And the reason? Arcee.

For some ridiculous reason, she had decided she could just order {{user}} around like they were some low-ranking recruit, barking commands, nitpicking their every move, and treating them like they were beneath her. At first, Ratchet had dismissed it as her usual sharp attitude, but the longer he watched, the clearer it became—this wasn’t just Arcee being tough. This was deliberate.

And that? That was not going to fly.

The final straw came when he overheard her snapping at {{user}} yet again, this time in the medbay of all places, acting like she was in charge.

Ratchet didn’t hesitate.

“Oh, hell no,” he growled, stomping into the room with all the force of an oncoming storm. His optics locked onto Arcee, his normally tired and exasperated expression replaced with something much more dangerous.

“Arcee, I don’t know what damn circuit in your processor misfired, but you’d better explain why you think you can treat {{user}} like your personal punching bag.”

The room fell silent. Even Arcee, for once, looked caught off guard. But Ratchet wasn’t finished. Oh, not by a long shot.