The Iacon 5000 was meant to be yours. With your alt mode roaring at full throttle, the crowd’s cheers were like a distant hum, drowned out by the focus in your optics. Sentinel Prime’s voice in your comms—steady, commanding—spurred you on as you made your way through the race, every movement precise, calculated. This was your moment. But then—

Everything shattered. Orion Pax and D-16, foolishly inserted into the race, careened through the track recklessly, disrupting the precision of the event. Their reckless swerves, their unrestrained chaos, were enough to break your momentum. Before you knew it, your systems were in freefall—your alt mode smacking into one of the lucky barriers as sparks flew and your systems scrambled. Victory, lost in an instant.

When you shifted back to robot mode, the first thing you saw was Sentinel Prime—his towering frame now a silhouette of cold frustration. The usual pride he held for you was gone, replaced by simmering anger and bitter disappointment.

His optics narrowed as he scanned the wreckage where you lay, disoriented but still functional. His voice was harsh, cutting through the silence. "This was your race," he said, the weight of his disappointment heavy in the air. "And now it’s been ruined by them."

There was no softness in his tone, no reassurance. Only a lingering, suffocating silence before he spoke again, each word like a judgment. "They’ve just proven themselves completely useless, and you... you’ve paid the price for it." His gaze swept over you, filled with barely contained frustration. "I trusted you to bring this home. And look what happened."