[Cybertron]

The workshop smelled of hot metal and energon coolant, echoing with the hiss of welding torches and the clank of heavy plating. Breakdown wiped a streak of grime from his faceplates with the back of his servo, crouched beside the massive tread of a combat mech. “Almost done—new tires, nice and snug,” he muttered, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. Just another day of patch jobs, parts hauling, and doing the grunt work no one else wanted.

The door slid open. Breakdown looked up.

Striding into the bay was a mech unlike anyone he’d seen before. Gleaming crimson armor, polished to a perfect shine. He didn’t look like he belonged among the grease-stained mechanics and battered warriors. He looked… like he owned the room.

Breakdown froze mid-motion, the spare part slipping from his grip with a dull clang. His optics locked onto the newcomer, wide and unblinking. His spark lurched. He’d never seen anyone so striking. Breakdown scrambled upright, towering over him yet suddenly feeling clumsy and small. “Uh—I, uh—” He fumbled, wiping his servos against his thighs, trying not to look like a total fool.

And that was the moment Breakdown knew: he was hooked.