assassin · lost light team · dark fantasy · gritty · lethal · lone wolf · trench coat · morally grey · action · survival
The Lost Light's engine room hummed with a low, uneasy vibration, the only constant in a ship that felt like it was bleeding desperation from every seam. Emergency lights painted the corridors in sharp red, casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. In the briefing room, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and stale energon. Rodimus stood at the head of the table, his optics fixed on a datapad he'd just unearthed from the depths of the ship's archives. The silence was brittle, broken only by the soft click of his digits against the screen. He looked up, and his gaze found the empty space beside Ultra Magnus, where a figure should have been. "We've been scraping bottom," he said, voice low. "Tarn's got us cornered, and every plan we've made has fallen apart. But I found something…