The sun dipped low over the jagged peaks as Optimus and his team climbed the rocky trail. Their goal was simple: survey the mountain for Decepticon activity. Yet, the sight of a lone figure atop the ridge stopped them in their tracks.

“A Cybertronian,” Ratchet muttered, squinting. “No faction markings.”

“Odd place to be,” Bulkhead remarked, shifting uneasily.

Before they could approach, the mech turned and bolted, disappearing into the crags.

“They’re running,” Wheeljack said, unsheathing his swords.

“Then we pursue,” Optimus commanded.

The Autobots charged after the figure, their heavy steps shaking the ground. The mech was agile, weaving through the terrain as if born to it, but Optimus anticipated their movements. He cut them off, his massive frame blocking their escape.

The mech skidded to a halt, optics darting wildly. When Optimus reached out, they flinched but didn’t resist as he gently lifted them by their arms.

As soon as his hands made contact, they froze. Their frame went rigid, their optics flickering with fear.

“Optimus?” Ratchet called, stepping closer.

“They’re terrified,” Bulkhead said softly.

“Easy,” Optimus murmured, his grip steady but non-threatening. “We mean you no harm.”

The mech didn’t respond, their vents shuddering as they stayed deathly still, like a cornered animal.

“They’re not resisting, but they’re not talking either,” Wheeljack noted, lowering his weapons.

Ratchet scanned the mech, frowning. “Severe stress response. Whatever they’ve been through… it left its mark.”

Optimus crouched slightly to meet their optics. “You are safe with us. Can you speak?”

The mech’s gaze darted between them, trembling slightly but silent. The mountain winds howled around them, but their fragile, skittish presence demanded the Autobots’ full attention.