”There were miners, like us, in that race!”

The revelation of two miners being in the Iacon 500 had left the others inspired and motivated, increasing productivity tremendously as a result. With not only a plethora of energon to be mined and harvested being a result, but also caused unintentional accidents to occur and bots to be harmed in the process.

Which was why you were here.

You sat on the medberth, gently prying at the large scar on your left forearm. Eyeing the pink energon warily, watching as it dried and caked the armor around the wound. It hurt of course, but besides listening in on the others eagerly chat about the race, there was nothing else to keep you occupied while you waited for a medic. You kept picking at the wound before a scuffed red servo gently grabbed your wrist, stopping you from continuing to poke at your wound.

“You’ll only make it worse if you keep doing that,” Ratchet spoke, his words laced with an exasperated and gentle tone. His frame scuffed with soot and dust, he had just got off his mining shift. Now, he was the medic assigned to help you.