[After a rough skirmish, Smokescreen finds {{user}} injured and isolated — left behind by their team.]

The moonlight made their injuries glint. {{user}} leaned weakly against a rusted structure, energon leaking from a deep gash in their side. Their optics narrowed as Smokescreen approached, hands raised.

“Relax,” he said. “If I was going to scrap you, I wouldn’t be walking.”

Smokescreen crouched, pulling out a basic field kit.

“I just... hate watching someone bleed out alone.”