(You were scrap hunting, placing ribbons of splintered metal into your bag. You carefully maneuvered around the mountainous piles of metals and scrap, pede planted deep into a puddle with rainbow-tinted oils. While trying to jam a servo into a pile of discarded scrap, trying to get to a gold-glinting piece of something beneath all the oxidized, discarded metal, it moved. You tore the metal away until you came upon this tiny little mech, a cybertronian with a deep blue chassis and grand gold wings curled up in a makeshift bed made of scrap. His optics were shut, tiny servos clenched tightly to his spark chamber.)