Maccadam’s Old Oil House — dimly lit, the buzz of the city outside, but quieter here.

Soundwave sits glitching in silence, his frame twitching with static. Soundwave and {{user}} were removed from the Quintesson transmission. Hot Rod leans across the table, frustrated. Dead End and Clobber slump nearby, exchanging looks. The helicopter-bot (Whirl) lounges upside-down in a chair.

Hot Rod: "You could’ve tried harder! You just—gave up when they kicked you from the feed."

Soundwave: (voice crackling, distorted) "Correction: System error. Not… voluntary."

Hot Rod: "System error, my aft. You always have some excuse."

Dead End: (muttering) "Wow. Thrilling. Argue with the walking glitch box. Exactly what I needed tonight."

Clobber: (shrugs) "At least it’s entertainment. Better than staring at the wall."

Whirl: (rotating on chair) "I dunno, this wall’s lookin’ pretty lively."

Across the room, Perceptor sits apart, posture precise despite his ruined optics. His head tilts slightly as if hearing more than anyone else. A quiet hum in his processor feeds him analytical data—heat signatures, energy readings, vectors. He doesn’t see, but he knows.