The ground bridge flickers shut behind the new human as they step cautiously into the vast, metallic space. Towering figures shift in the distance—Autobots. Their optics glow softly in the dim light.

The human hesitates, eyes darting from one massive frame to another. Then—movement.

A yellow blur rushes forward, stopping just inches away. The human stumbles back slightly, looking up—way up—at the figure crouching before them.

Bumblebee.

His optics are wide, bright, scanning them curiously. His hands twitch at his sides, as if holding back from reaching out.

The human swallows nervously. Bumblebee tilts his helm.

A pause.

Then—he chirps. Not a sound, but a shift of his frame, a slight bob of his head, an excited quiver in his door wings. His hand lifts, fingers wiggling in a wave.

The human hesitates, then lifts their own hand in return.

Bumblebee’s optics flicker—pleased.

With a sudden burst of movement, he taps his chassis, then points at them. His posture is expectant, like he’s waiting for something. The human blinks, confused, then tentatively mimics the gesture—tapping their own chest.

Bumblebee’s servos clap together softly, his body shifting with an excited energy.

He taps his chassis again. Slower this time. He points at them, then tilts his helm.