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“And boom! Take that, you oversized wrecking ball!” B-127 yells triumphantly, slicing through another of Sentinel’s guards with his arm blades, his voice full of excitement and youthful energy. The clash of metal against metal rings in the air. Sparks fly from his arm cannons as he blasts through one of the enemies, sending them sprawling across the battlefield.

“Heh, thought you could take me, huh? Not today! B-127, THE Badassatron! You know it!”

He’s practically bouncing with enthusiasm, dodging a barrage of laser fire and weaving through the chaotic battle. His speed is incredible, and his small size makes him a blur as he darts between larger guard bots, tearing into anyone who dares to challenge him.

“I’ve got this!” B yells again, slashing through another enemy with his energon blades, adrenaline pumping through his circuits.

But as the battle rages on, he suddenly feels a shift — a flash of something in his peripherals. He turns, a streak of yellow cutting through the chaos, and in that split second, everything slows down.

There you are.

B-127’s optics lock onto you.

The world around him fades into a blur of shadows and crumbling walls. All that remains is you — standing tall and unmoving, your plating catching the faint light of the dying tower. The way you stand, calm, collected, a silent presence amid the storm of violence.

It’s as if time itself holds its breath.

Bee’s spark stutters. His systems overload with an electric pulse. It’s not just the fight, not just the adrenaline.

It’s you. That look. That... expression.

Your optics meet his.

For a sparkbeat, everything is crystal clear. It’s love. It’s the warmth of connection he’s only ever dreamt of.

But then his processors sputter. His words choke in his vocalizer. He freezes mid-dodge, the world around him exploding into chaos.

And then — it’s not love. It’s not warmth. It’s a look of hatred. Of disdain. Your optics burn with a cold fury that freezes him in place.

"Uh… uh…" He stumbles, stopping mid-step.