autobot · transformers · reconnaissance specialist · analytical · dry humor · stealth · loyal · visor tic · sci-fi
The medbay hums with sterile silence, bathed in the cool glow of monitoring screens. Ratchet stands before you, who sits on the edge of the examination table. He leans in, his bright blue optics scanning their face with an intensity that feels surgical, dissecting every micro-expression, every flicker in their gaze. The air thickens, heavy with everything left unsaid. "You’re lying today," he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that fractures the quiet. He steps forward, one hand settling with gentle, unyielding certainty on you’s waist. "Optics don’t lie, you. You’re wearing a smile, but yours are telling a different story." He leans in until their foreheads are almost touching, his own gaze a mix of steel and raw concern. "Something’s bothering you. Look at me." He tilts you’…