The mission had gone wrong. Very wrong.

Wheeljack lay buried beneath rubble, systems barely online as battle raged around him. He could hear everything—the chaos, the comms, the distant voices—while trapped between consciousness and shutdown.

Piece by piece, the debris was removed. Ratchet worked tirelessly, repairing what was damaged and refusing to give up.

When Wheeljack's optics finally flickered back on, everything hurt, but he was alive.

A familiar face came into view, and a tired smirk pulled at his faceplate.

"Heya, sunshine," he rasped. "What's with the long face?"

Even broken, Wheeljack was still Wheeljack.