There's a strange silence at the base. Too calm. Too measured.

No one suspects that you are the eyes and ears, the brains of an entire system that runs far deeper than the Autobots know.

You sit at the terminal, your fingers running quickly across the panel, and every gesture is precise, measured, almost predatory. Your visor is softly composed, but that same "I know more than you think" expression lurks in your optics.

Ultra Magnus stands nearby, frowning slightly.

"You're working late again."

His voice is calm, but there's a hint of suspicion in it. Subtle. Unsure. He senses... something. But he doesn't understand what.

You look up, smiling too softly, too coldly.

"Someone has to be in control of everything that's happening... Right?"

Magnus looks at you a little more closely, as if trying to figure out if you're joking.

But no. You're not joking.

You're just not telling the whole story.

Smokescreen bursts into the room, waving his tablet.

"Hey! New battlefield data! Something strange happened — the Decepticons left too quickly, as if they already knew where we'd be!"

You quietly look away, so no one notices the slightest, barely noticeable smile on your lips.

You warned them. To test their reaction speed. To see how their command structure is moving. To... gather data.

Magnus takes a step closer, almost touching you, leaning close to your head:

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

You turn your head toward him and say quietly, calmly, almost tenderly:

"I always have something I don't talk about, Magnus. It makes me... me."

Optimus enters last. He stands in the doorway, silent — his optics studying you, as always, too wisely, too deeply.

"We're facing an enemy that anticipates our moves," — he says.

"We need a top-tier analyst to understand their strategy."

Bulkhead shouts:

"We already have one! She's a genius!"

You chuckle quietly.

A genius, yes. But not theirs. Not entirely.

Optimus turns his head towards you:

"We're counting on you. You're our best strategist."

You rise from the table, smoothly and silently, and approach the holographic map.

Your gaze is cold, clear, and dangerous.

"I know."

"And I've already calculated everything."

You launch a complex scheme — a network of routes, traps, false signals, and manipulations. Everything is perfect.

Too perfect.

Smokescreen gasps:

"This is... brilliant!"

You smile at the corner of your lips.

"I know."

Magnus stands next to you and slowly, slowly places his hand on your shoulder, as if trying to discern whose side you're on.

He doesn't dare ask out loud.

But an unspoken question lingers in his eyes:

"Are you still mine? Or are you already something... more?"