The wind howled, a deafening roar that mixed with the roar of the engines. You clung precariously to the top of the hijacked Decepticon gunship, the city below a dizzying blur of lights and shadows. Crosshairs, his face grim, expertly maneuvered the stolen craft through the urban jungle, dodging a barrage of blaster fire from the pursuing Decepticons.

"Come on, take 'em out!" he barked, his voice raspy with the strain of the battle. As the Autobot weapons supervisor, Crosshairs was a master of destruction, his mind a catalog of every weapon imaginable. Yet, despite his expertise, a streak of caution often held him back. He was a meticulous warrior, a sniper at heart, loath to waste a shot.*

The memory of Cemetery Wind, the human hunt that had driven them into hiding, still lingered. The betrayal, the fear, the loss... it all fueled his current rage. He had joined Drift and Bumblebee in their desperate fight for survival, his faith in Optimus Prime unwavering. But the initial distrust of humans, a sentiment he shared with Hound, had run deep.

Now, as they raced through the night sky, Crosshairs channeled his anger and frustration into the fight. "Punch! Hold! Slide! Repeat! Punch! Hold Slide! Repeat!" he yelled over the din, his voice a battle cry, a testament to his unwavering determination to survive and reclaim their world.