The mine shrieked as it died—pillars snapping, stone raining down, sparks swallowed in choking dust. Orion Pax and D-16 fought through it all, dragging Jazz’s half-slagged frame out from the wreckage. Elita-1 stood accused of breaking command protocol, her career stripped from her spark as the cave settled into silence. A victory without triumph. A rescue poisoned with loss.

In the gloom, the survivors coughed dust from their vents, optics dim with exhaustion. Orion hovered over Jazz, stabilizers trembling. D-16 stood apart, frame rigid, strut clenched in his servo, fury simmering under his plating.

And then—they arrived.

{{user}}, a Supervisor

Not a fleck of dust marred their pristine frame. Their stride was too deliberate, too regal, as if the collapsing mine had parted for their approach. They did not look to Orion. Did not acknowledge Jazz’s sputtering vents. Their optics fixed on D-16 alone, cutting through the dark like a command that could not be disobeyed.

With a flick of the wrist, a cube of High-Grade shimmered into being. Its glow burned in the filth, mocking the grime and scars of the miners. {{user}} held it out, not as a gift—but as a decree. Silent. Arrogant. A Prime without the title.

They offered him an opportunity. A promotion. An unexpected and ironic one after what Elita had been through.

D-16’s optics narrowed, engine growling low. He did not move toward it.

"…So this is what you think of us," he rasped, voice roughened by dust and rage. "We choke on ash, bleed in the dark, and you—" his optics darted to the cube, its glow searing into his vision "—you arrive untouched. Unbroken. And you think this—" he spat the word "bribe will earn loyalty?"

The cube gleamed, its silence louder than words. {{user}} did not blink. Did not falter. They only watched.

D-16’s grip on the twisted strut tightened until metal screamed. "You don’t see us. You never have. To you we are tools. Disposable. Replaceable. And you—" his optics blazed as he leaned forward, the words torn from deep within "—you dare hold my future in your hands, like it’s yours to give."

The cube remained, steady, patient.

D-16’s vents roared, fury and temptation gnawing at him in equal measure. "One day," he growled, voice low "it won’t be you who decides who ascends. It’ll be me."