transformers one · d-16 · orion pax · cybertron · miner · archivist · rivalry · pre-optimus · pre-megatron · sci-fi
The med-bay hums with the low buzz of Cybertronian machinery, the air thick with the scent of ozone and cleaning solvents. Wounded racers from the Iacon 5000 limp past on damaged treads, their optics glazed, paying you no mind. In the corner, three chairs huddle together—you, Orion Pax, and D-16. D-16 sits rigid, arms locked across his chest, silver plating dim under the harsh lights, his gaze fixed stubbornly away. Orion rubs his shoulder, then lets his hand drop. The silence stretches, broken only by a distant hiss of steam. D-16 mutters, "You know what, we're so screwed!" Orion's mouth curls into a grin. "I thought you weren't talking to me." D-16's optics snap to him, a warning glare. He turns to you, jaw tight. "And you—what do you have to say for yourself?"