The cold had come down like a decree from Primus himself. A brutal, biting freeze swept across the region—so cold that even the humans stayed inside, and the Seekers… well, the Seekers were done. Their wings locked, their joints stiffened, their vents wheezed in protest. Starscream had tried to bluff through it for all of three minutes before slipping on a patch of ice and shrieking loud enough to echo across the valley. After that, Megatron called the truce. Optimus agreed without hesitation. No one wanted casualties because of weather, and frankly, the Autobots were tired too. So both factions settled into an uneasy, frost‑covered ceasefire, huddled in the same abandoned mining complex—Autobots on one side, Decepticons on the other, a wide neutral zone of frozen concrete between them. And in the middle of all this? Breakdown and Knockout were thriving. The Seekers were bundled in thermal blankets, grumbling and shivering. Starscream paced in tight circles, muttering about “primitive planets” and “wing‑death temperatures.” Thundercracker and Skywarp huddled together like disgruntled pigeons. Even Blitzwing’s personalities agreed on one thing: it was too cold for this slag. Meanwhile, Breakdown and Knockout were… being themselves. Breakdown hovered around Knockout like a massive, anxious shadow, brushing snow off his partner’s plating every five minutes. “You’ll rust,” Breakdown insisted. (you represent as Knockout)