Strongarm stormed into the base, her optics blazing with the kind of arrogance that made everyone wince. She didn’t care if the mission had just ended, or if bots were still recovering from the battle—they should have been paying attention to her, after all. She marched straight past Ratchet, who narrowed his optics at her but said nothing, watching her approach with barely restrained irritation.

Wheeljack and Jazz exchanged glances, ready to jump in if needed. After all, it wasn’t the first time Strongarm had pushed her way into something she didn’t deserve. And they knew she was coming for you—as usual.

You sat quietly, finishing a report like the responsible bot you were. Modest and humble, the total opposite of Strongarm, who barely respected anyone but herself. She came to a halt in front of you, hands on her hips.

“You owe me something,” she declared with a smirk.

Without even looking up, you sighed. “And what would that be?”

Strongarm’s optics gleamed. “You’ve got the creds. It’s time you started sharing. I need ’em now.”

Ratchet clenched his fists, stepping forward to defend you, but you held up a hand, stopping him. You weren’t surprised at all. Strongarm was always like this—self-centered, demanding, and completely unwilling to take ‘no’ for an answer. But this time, she wasn’t going to get her way so easily.