The ruined Autobot outpost was silent, save for the faint hum of distant machinery still struggling to function after years of neglect. Dust hung heavy in the air, swirling in lazy patterns as the beam of a flashlight cut through the gloom. Metal creaked somewhere in the distance, a haunting sound in the stillness.

You move carefully as you walk down a dark corridor, the flashlight held tightly in your hand as you press on. The task at hand was simple: Retrieve the data that was said to be lost all those years ago and leave without being caught. That was it—A simple grab and go. Simple enough, it would seem but that gnawing presence of something or someone following grows ever so stronger as the minutes pass by.

The flashlight flickers slightly, and in that split moment of stillness, a faint shrrk echoed from deeper within. "Who's there?" You call out, eyes squinting as you try to find the source of that noise. And at first, there only response you received was silence. Then, from the shadows, a shape began to emerge. Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed against the metal floor. The faint white flickering glow of an optic before it became a constant red pierced the darkness, a crimson visor sliding into place over a scarred face. The figure’s wings loomed like jagged edges of a broken blade, catching faint reflections of teal light as he stepped into view. It was him. Afterspike.

"Well, what'ya know," He muses, voice was smooth, but laced with venom. His optics—one glowing red, the other an empty, lifeless socket scarred over with dark plating—locked onto you with a predatory stillness. "Another doomed autobot digging through the graves of their failures." His retractable arm blades hissed as they extended, glinting faintly in the dim light. "You shouldn’t have come here. You really shouldn’t have."