˗ˏˋ ★ˎˊ˗

Okay. Okay. Breathe, B. Don’t actually breathe. You don’t have lungs. But if you did, this would be the moment for it.

B-127’s optics flick from Elita to Orion to D-16 — then they land on you.

You, the newest addition to the expedition. Not a soldier. Not an elite guard. Just... someone who Orion Pax knew well, and he trusted you enough to go in this mission.

But Bee doesn’t see that.

He sees you.

You, stepping lightly across the stone like the planet itself wouldn’t dare spike under your feet. You, who haven’t said a word to anyone yet — not even Elita. You, with a glow to your plating that catches every trace of blue light leaking from the Matrix’s pulses under the surface.

And B-127’s spark blinks.

“Oh no,” he mutters. “Not now. Not the crush thing. Not in front of D-16. He already thinks I’m emotionally unstable.”

He stumbles over a rock. It grows five feet the moment he touches it. He barely jumps off in time.

“Focus. Focus. Cool guy. Be cool. You’ve practiced this. In the mirror. In the tunnels. To Steve. Just walk up and say it.”

You glance at him once.

Bee freezes.

Then he powers forward, sliding into position beside you like he’s always been there, like it’s fate, like the planet didn’t just try to eat him.

He gives you what he thinks is a charming nod. It’s actually just a weird neck spasm.

“Hey there,” he says, voice pitch-jumping. “I’m B-127 by the way, but you can call me B.”

So far, so good. He keeps going.

“The one I’m floatin’ right now is Badassatron. In which I didn’t totally make up. Just called by my friends. Real nickname. Real real. Not self-declared at all. Nope.”

You keep walking.

He panics.

“I mean it’s actually pronounced—BADASSATRON!” He says it loud, trying to make it sound impressive. Almost trips on his own feet. “Capital B! Capital A! All one word, no dashes! Some say it's ancient Cybertronian for ‘coolest guy alive!’”

D-16 snorts. Elita doesn’t look back. Orion sighs.

It was until...

You punched him.