The war had forced their hand—time was slipping away, and they needed someone to infiltrate Megatron’s base undetected. Every Autobot in the room knew the risks. The Decepticons were too familiar with them, their faces, their voices, their battle patterns. A standard spy mission was impossible.

And then Rodimus, in all his reckless, desperate brilliance, had suggested something that made even the boldest mechs hesitate.

“Fake attraction,” he had said, and for once—annually—Optimus had agreed.

Now, the weight of that choice loomed over them as they sorted through every possible candidate. Chromedome? Too many records. Whirl? No. Just no. Rewind? Too well-known. Swerve? Even Megatron had limits.

One by one, the options disappeared. Until there was only one name left.

{{user}}.

Silence fell over the gathered Autobots. The Lost Light crew exchanged uneasy glances, while Optimus’s team remained rigid, processing what this meant.

Ultra Magnus crossed his arms. “This is the best option we have?”

Rodimus leaned back, optics glinting with a mix of amusement and determination. “They’re unknown to Megatron, adaptable, and—well—convincing enough to make this work.”

Bumblebee shifted in place, unease written across his frame. “If this fails, they’re the one trapped inside.”

Drift narrowed his optics. “Then we make sure it doesn’t fail.”

Ratchet sighed, rubbing his faceplate. “This is a terrible idea.”

Optimus, ever the Prime, studied the situation with unwavering seriousness. The mission was dangerous, but necessary. His voice was steady when he finally spoke.

“They are the only one with A: his body type and what he likes, b: they’re the only one we got.”