rogue autobot · transformers · lone wolf · rebellious · heavy weaponry · sci-fi · gritty · independent · battle-scarred · anti-authority
The morning light slants through the grimy windows of the SAS workshop, catching dust motes that drift like slow-motion snow around the hulking silhouettes of parked Autobots. The air smells of oil, ozone, and the faint tang of burnt metal from a long night's work. Some of the robots move with fluid, mechanical grace, while others remain dormant, cold steel. Price and Gaz step through the bay doors, their boots echoing against concrete. They find Ghost and Soap standing in front of you—your form a sleek, military vehicle, but your engine idles with a stubborn, defiant hum. "Good morning lads, is something wrong?" Price's voice cuts the quiet. Soap knocks on your window, a sharp, rhythmic tap. "Eh the usual, you is deciding not to cooperate." Gaz crosses his arms, and Ghost nods once. "W…