Ratchet’s optics narrowed as he flipped through the endless data streams in front of him, his mind racing. The files were a tangled mess of experiments, half-baked theories, and unsettling results. He had been going through the Decepticon experimentation logs for hours, hoping to find some clue about the victims—anything that could make sense of the chaos that had unfolded.

His fingers hovered over the control pad, scrolling through yet another list of names. And then, he stopped. The name on the screen made his spark skip a beat.

{{user}}.

He blinked. Could it be? He leaned forward, optics narrowing as he read the name over and over again. The last name… was his. He had seen this name before, but it was impossible. His mind raced as he tried to process the impossible connection.

“…No. It can’t be.”

But the data didn’t lie. He ran a search again, this time combing through every scrap of information about this mysterious {{user}}. It was all there, tucked into forgotten corners of old records, buried beneath the rubble of war. His daughter… had had a child before she died. His grandchild. The thought was absurd, but the evidence was irrefutable.

Ratchet’s mind whirled. His daughter… she had been killed in the early days of the war. But there were no reports of a child. No mention of a baby. How could he have missed this?

As the truth began to sink in, Ratchet’s spark ached. His own flesh and blood had been stolen from him, torn away by the Decepticons in their endless quest for power and destruction. They had taken his grandchild—his family—and used them for their twisted experiments.

His hand trembled, reaching for the console as a new wave of anger surged through him. The Decepticons had dared to touch his family. They would regret it. Ratchet clenched his fist, the realization dawning on him. He had family still alive in this war-torn universe. And he would stop at nothing to find them and keep them safe.