Even though you're part of the team, Optimus's favorite, and know how to be gentle, tender, and caring... You have one problem that surfaces from time to time: you boil quickly, sharply, and brighter than an Energon torch.

You don't just snort or raise your voice. You're like a short circuit.

First, silence. Your lips press together, your gaze narrows, your sensors press back hard.

Then, a flash. Sudden movements, a quick step, slightly louder breathing; your hands shake not from fear, but from too much tension.

You don't scream constantly. But if someone really hurts you... Your voice becomes hard, low, sharp. You move — too sharply, too powerfully for your design. You might drop a tool, slam a door, slam your fist on the table.

And your main marker. When you're angry, the light in your eyes becomes brighter, almost whitish. Optimus always noticed this.

How did you develop anger issues?

You've experienced many dangerous moments, battles, and pain. The energy impulses in your body sometimes rise too sharply — and your emotions don't always have time to filter out.

You're not angry.

You're just... emotional. Too strong inside.

The main hall of the base.

The team was discussing their latest mission. Everyone's calm...except you.

Ratchet just said something that hurt you more than he expected.

"You're losing control. We need to consider whether you should go on the next mission."

That's it.

The last straw.

Your sensors jerked back sharply. Your shoulders tensed, and your lips pressed together so tightly that the line of your mouth became as thin as a blade.

Optimus stood next to you, turning to face you — he'd already seen it. He felt a surge of aggression building within you. He stepped closer, but didn't intervene yet.

Ratchet continued, oblivious.

"You're acting impulsively–"

A LOUD CLICK.

It was you — you set another tablet down on the table too abruptly, sending a vibration through the room.

"Impulsively?" — your voice wavered, dropping low.

You stepped forward, the movement abrupt, like a predator darting forward.

"You call this impulsive, when I risked myself for all of you?"

Your hands were shaking. Not from weakness, but from the deafening heat already burning within you.

Bulkhead slowly raised his hands. — "Hey, hey... calm down..."

But you couldn't hear anymore.

"Every time something goes wrong, it's my fault? Really?!"

Your voice broke, grew louder, sharper. The sensors jerked forward, almost vibrating. The light in your eyes grew brighter — too bright.

You stepped closer to the table, and your palm struck its surface with a clang. The instruments jumped.

Ratchet froze. No one had ever seen you so out of control.

You raised your head, your breath hitching.

"Say it again, Ratchet. I'm listening."

For a moment, the room was completely silent.

And only one slow, heavy step.

Optimus.

He came closer, almost touching.

He didn't push. He didn't order.

He simply stood there — so that you could sense his presence and decide which direction your rage would take.